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“ On the road 
rustic bench, on 


leading through the forest they soon found a 
which they had often sat in the old days.” 

Page 840. 



FORGIVE AND 
FORGET 


BY 

ERNST LINGEN 


> 

« , ' 
) ) 

■ ) ) 


New York Cincinnati Chicago 


BENZIGER BROTHERS 


PRINTERS TO TIIE 
HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 


PUBLISHERS OF 
BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

1909 





rfbOAHY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Recerved 

F£B 5 1909 

Copyrife-nt fc:ntry 

4 J ^ ^ ^ 

CLftSS XXc. No. 

COHY :^. 


Copyright, 1909, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

Old Friends . . . 1 . 

• 

• 

7 

II. 

Kampaspe 


• 

36 

III. 

The Lady of the Forest 



54 

IV. 

Charles Fernau Returns to Mann- 
heim 

70 

V. 

The Beginning of Temptation 



83 

VI. 

An Invitation .... 



94 

VII. 

Concerning Paul Timar 



109 

VIII. 

At St. Hubert’s Lodge . 



129 

IX. 

The Baerens Visit Mannheim 



145 

X. 

Carola’s Lover Starts North 



162 

XI. 

The Home-coming of Paul . 



174 

XII. 

Paul and Carola .... 



187 

XIII. 

Doubts and Misgivings . 



206 

XIV. 

From Otto to Charles . 



218 

XV. 

The Storm 



230 

XVI. 

Paul’s Love 



238 

XVII. 

Tender Thoughts 



251 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

XVIII. 

Mrs. Kampe to the Fore . 

. 260 

XIX. 

Forgive and Forget ” . 

. 275 

XX. 

The Angel of Death 

. 287 

XXI. 

Charles Fernau’s Awakening . 

. 305 

XXII. 

Mr. Kampe Receives a Letter . 

. 318 

XXIII. 

At Paul’s Grave 

. 327 

XXIV. 

The Ending of the Tale . 

. 337 


I 


FORGIVE AND FORGET 


CHAPTER I 

OLD FRIENDS 

“Oh, this is beautiful — perfectly magnifi- 
cent. I must take back my skeptical remarks. 
And I’m glad to be able to do so. You see I 
have changed but little. I’m always saying 
whatever comes into my mind, without waiting 
to see if my prejudices are borne out by the 
facts. I’m indeed surprised.” 

The young man, coming leisurely out of one 
of the winding and bosky by-paths of the park 
of Castle Mannheim into the main drive, had 
involuntarily stood still when confronted sud- 
denly by the splendid outlines of the castle, 
while the friend accompanying him smiled 
with a superior satisfaction. 

To be sure this was the most favorable time 
to bring a stranger to look upon the glories 
of Mannheim. The red light of the sinking 
sun and the fresh bloom and green of spring 

7 


OLD FRIENDS 


alike threw their spell upon the massive build- 
ing, which at other times and seasons might 
well have been called monotonous and heavy. 
The projecting tower, dividing the main 
wings, was festooned by a growth of ivy. It 
wreathed the long rows of closed windows 
with their Venetian blinds, whose white and 
gilt ornamentation suggested the magnificence 
of the interior they shut off from the outside 
world. Graceful garlands of the ivy hung 
over the arches of the entrance-way and clung 
to every projecting ledge of the reddish 
stone, glowing deeper in the light of the late 
sun. The distinctive charm of the view, how- 
ever, was the towers and domes of the Jesuit 
church, rising above a group of magnificent 
old trees, so near to the castle that they ap- 
peared to he a continuation of the castle itself. 

“Now, don’t you agree that the castle is fine 
at least from this point? The inteidor is nota- 
ble, too, and a visit to the portrait gallery will 
fill a few idle hours pleasantly during the next 
few days.” 

“The next few days! You forget that I 
must leave to-morrow. Considering that fact, 
time seems too valuable to fritter it away in 
some old picture galleries, which, I suppose, 

8 


OLD FRIENDS 


do not contain anything really worth while. 
Why, you never even mentioned the pictures 
at Mannheim before to-day.” 

“And why should I have done so in Berlin? 
In the sight of your sandy wastes, ' I might 
have tried to picture to you the green flood of 
the Rhine and the lovely valleys of the N eckar, 
and of the gay and pleasant life, which is 
alien to the North. But to talk to you of pic- 
ture collections in view of the treasures of the 
city — ^why I had almost forgotten myself that 
we had anything like art down here. But now 
that we are, for the present at least, far from 
the attractions of that happy time in the city, 
I think I could venture to show even you what 
we have here.” 

“Yes, it was a happy time,” said the other 
young man, and a wistful look passed over his 
finely modeled face. “And I must confess, 
Charles, that I have often wondered since, 
whether it would not remain the happiest time 
of my life.” 

“Otto!” said the other young man, startled, 
and looked searchingly into his friend’s face. 
But the momentary seriousness had even tlien 
given way to the customary look of bubbling 
gaiety, and Otto said laughingly: “Oh, well, 

9 


OLD FRIENDS 


why philosophize? Let’s do once more even 
as we did in Berlin, and enjoy the moment at 
its best?” 

Then he thrust his arm through His friend’s 
and together they started toward the park en- 
trance, leading to what is known as the Broad, 
or Neckar street, which divides the town from 
one end to the other. 

“That’s my idea, too,” said Charles, “and so 
I’ll say nothing about the ‘to-morrow’ of which 
you spoke a moment ago, but stick to ‘to-day.’ 
You don’t seem to be tired, and so my plans 
for the rest of the day will probably he in 
order.” 

“But I hope your program does not mean 
that we are to do anything except go to your 
room and tell each other what we have done 
that was wise and perhaps, too, what was fool- 
ish, since we last saw each other, and Avhat we 
intend to do in the near future. Time is too 
valuable for anything else, don’t you think 
so?” 

“Well,” said his friend laughingly, “the two 
main things we have already found out about 
each other, involuntarily perhaps — ” 

“And what are they?” 

10 


OLD FRIENDS 


“That our friendship is still the same 
and—” 

“And?” asked Otto, wonderingly. 

“Well, that we must in some way remember 
our good old Professor.” 

Otto stood still for a moment. “Fischer?” 
he said then, “you are thinking of it still? 
Yes, you are right, old fellow. And in grati- 
tude for this thought, I am at your disposition 
for the rest of the day.” 

“I am not generous enough to refuse your 
offer,” said Charles. “On the contrary I ex- 
pect to make a very large use of your agree- 
ableness provided you are not at all tired.” 
“Oh, not in the least. I rested and slept at 
Mainz and took in the cathedral — ^but where 
are you taking me ?” he asked as Charles stop- 
ped at the door of a stately corner residence. 
“Surely you are not living in such a palace as 
this seems to he?” 

“Not on the first floor, that is sure,” replied 
Charles. “Yet I think you will like my place 
just the same. Won’t you come in?” 

Ferns and palms and statuettes lined the 
hall into which they entered. A subdued light 
came through a high rose window and cast a 

11 


OLD FRIENDS 


mosaic of delicate lights on the stairs up which 
they were going. It was so quiet that it 
seemed as if no one else lived there. Otto 
involuntarily walked softly as if afraid of dis- 
turbing the awesome silence, until his friend 
opening a door said “Here is my Tusculum.” 
To be sure they had climbed up four flights 
of stairs. Otto looked about tbe room quickly. 
“Just the same as ever, except for this,” and 
he pointed to the tea table on which some light 
refreshments were laid, ready for the guest. 

“You are most welcome to my own little 
nest. You don’t know how I have longed for 
this moment. Now make yourself comfort- 
able. Refresh the outer man now, and after 
that the inner man may have his rights.” 

A minute later the friends were sitting side 
by side on the old-fashioned sofa beside the 
tea table. “But who in the world lives in this 
palace besides you? There is such a distin- 
guished air and such an aristocratic quiet that 
I was almost afraid to whisper outside your 
door.” 

“A lady and a gentleman, brother and sister. 
They have given me this room as a special 
favor. Every one who knows them is aston- 
ished that they have taken me at all, as they 

12 


OLD FRIENDS 


live a very quiet and retiring life. I have 
been told that my presence consoles them in a 
measure for the absence of a nephew, whom 
they had raised and who left them when he 
was grown. But these are merely idle specu- 
lations on the part of other people. They 
have never said a word to me themselves, al- 
though they are very kind to me.” 

“And you find them pleasant?” 

“Very. They take such a lively interest in 
all my efforts, they have such sympathy with 
everything that is happening in the world in 
spite of their retired way of living, and, with 
it all, nothing that is narrow or one-sided, 
as is so common with people who live in se- 
clusion, that I always look forward to the time 
I am to spend with them with great delight.” 
“Indeed!” laughed Otto. “That sounds 
dangerous. If I had not heard that the lady 
is somebody’s aunt I would insist on meeting 
her.” 

He sprang to his feet and went to the open 
window. “I must see what the outlook is 
here. Ah, regular boulevards to the right and 
to the left the bridge. I like it, indeed.” 
Charles came to the window and explained. 
“We are right in the middle of the city here. 

13 


OLD FRIENDS 


I think we’ll take a little walk along the prom- 
enade later this evening. Just now the heat 
is still too great for many people to be out. 
You will hardly meet a lady on the street.” 

“A lady. Aha! That is it, my friend. 
Own up.” 

Charles took out his wateh and looked at it 
unruffled. “Six o’clock. Two hours more 
before the concert begins. We have a little 
while to talk.” 

“So we are to go to a concert?” asked Otto 
in astonishment. 

“It is for a charitable purpose and is going 
to be very fine, so it is said. Wouldn’t you 
like to go?” 

“To be sure. Especially as I suppose there 
are to be ladies there,” he added teasingly. 

“Wouldn’t you find it rather tiresome if 
there were nothing but black coats at the con- 
cert, and if you met nothing but high hats on 
the promenade? But sit down again and let 
us talk sensibly. Tell me first of all how your 
people are getting along and about our friends 
in Berlin, and why you are going on this trip, 
and what your plans are for the future.” 

“You have my lesson cut out for me. Well, 
to begin. My parents and my brother are 

14 


OLD FRIENDS 


very well. My father is still the same con- 
scientious bureaucrat and the same easy-going 
family man. My mother’s health is better, 
and I am sure she would be quite well if she 
were not always forgetting herself in her care 
for others. It was rather hard on her to have 
me go away.” 

Otto paused reflectively for a few moments, 
and a wistful look crept into his eyes. “And 
Henry?” asked Charles, looking at his friend 
searchingly. 

“Oh, you would find him very much 
changed. The fact that he is doing well in 
every respect has made it easier for me to leave 
my parents for a considerable time.” 

“And you are going — ” 

“To join the North Pole expedition. 
Everything has been arranged. Pirker is go- 
ing with me. We have great hopes. I shall 
explain later. My parents consented only on 
condition that I would take this little trip for 
recreation first, as a bracer to my ‘overstrained 
nerves,’ as they put it. Country air for a few 
weeks is supposed to be the needful thing. I 
don’t know whether I ever told you that we 
have friends in Bavaria. The head forester 
at Rauheneck, Baerens, was a college friend 

15 


OLD FRIENDS 


of my father’s. Though they have seen but 
little of each other since their student days 
they have always corresponded. This visit of 
mine is in response to an often expressed wish 
on the part of both my father and his friend. 
After that I expect to travel around a little 
in Southern Germany, for I do not fancy that 
the forest air, no matter how delightful it may 
he, will do other than fill me with a desire to 
turn wanderer and seek new places very soon. 
I hope you can arrange to take some little trips 
with me.” 

“That would be splendid. I’ll work doubly 
hard so as to be free to go with you. You 
must come to my shop to-morrow and see my 
work. I have something big on hand. No, 
I’ll not tell you anything about it, I want to 
see the impression it will make on you,” he 
went on quickly, as Otto tried to interrupt 
him. “Tell me something, rather, about the 
old bachelor with whom you are to have your 
headquarters in the forest. I may come to see 
you there some time.” 

“What bachelor? You are jumping at con- 
clusions. He is married and has a family.” 

“Married? Family? Very good, very 
good. That changes the whole business. 

16 


OLD FRIENDS 


You never spoke of him, how could I tell — 
perhaps, for all I know, he has a pretty daugh- 
ter?” 

Charles uttered the words as suddenly as 
the thought came into his mind, and then he 
looked expectantly at his friend to note the 
impression they had made. 

Otto laughed. “To be sure. He has one 
only daughter. Whether she is pretty is an- 
other question. According to the photograph 
which we have of her, and which shows her as 
a plump youngster of about four years stand- 
ing between her parents, one would rather 
think not. But how you get worked up over 
nothing.” 

In spite of the careless and laughing man- 
ner in which Otto made this explanation, his 
friend noted a slight embarrassment in his 
manner. 

“Then you don’t know her at all,” he said. 
“I should think you would have almost un- 
consciously made a picture of her in your 
mind.” 

“Oh, I do think of her as a pleasant and 
wholesome child of nature. But sometimes I 
have a fear that I may find instead the spoiled 
and petulant darling of fond parents, whose 

17 


OLD FRIENDS 


whims one must endure for the sake of her 
parents. Just think, barring six months spent 
with an aunt, she has never been away from 
home.” 

“I don’t understand you, Otto. Instead of 
being pleased at the thought of meeting a de- 
lightful, or at least a probably delightful girl, 
you are turning her possible shortcomings over 
in your mind. For my part I think you are 
an unconscionably lucky fellow.” 

Otto looked at his friend as if to make sure 
whether he was jesting or not. 

“Just look at me,” Charles went on with 
mock pathos. “I am in dead earnest. How 
I would like to have such a chance to meet and 
become acquainted with a nice young girl! 
Both of us have arrived at the age when we 
begin to long for a pleasant and comfortable 
home. I am free to confess that this is true 
in my case at least. I am independent now 
and sure of a fair income, and have to ask 
nobody’s permission to marry, because I am all 
alone in the world. But how can I find an op- 
portunity to become acquainted with young 
women, how gain entrance to families without 
being looked upon as a candidate for marriage 
from the very beginning, and thus be robbed 

18 


OLD FRIENDS 


of a measure of choice and liberty? I re- 
peat, an opportunity like yours is not to be 
scorned.” 

Charles had risen as he talked, and was 
walking up and down the room excitedly. 

“It is always the same old story,” said Otto 
smilingly. “We yearn for that which we have 
not, or that which is hard to get. The things 
which circumstances offer us as a matter of 
course lose half their charm in that very fact. 
Come here and sit down beside me again. 
Y ou have at least given me the courage to talk 
a little more about this matter. I don’t mind 
telling you in confidence that it is the dearest 
wish of my parents that I should marry Carola. 
My mother especially is haunted by the fear 
that I may bring home to her as a daughter 
some modern society girl, who can talk about 
every possible subject except of the things 
that concern our daily needs ; who is instructed 
in all the arts except the one of making a com- 
fortable home for her husband. In this re- 
gard my mother and my father, too, are still 
children of the good old times and look sus- 
piciously and belittlingly upon every innova- 
tion of the age. Don’t think, however, that I 
agree with them in this respect. On the con- 

19 


OLD FRIENDS 


trary, I am of the opinion that it is compara- 
tively easy to acquire an understanding for 
the cook-book and the household, if the brain 
and the heart have been properly developed in 
other directions and the mental and moral out- 
look is not too limited. You know me. I 
wouldn’t be an exacting husband nor make 
excessive demands on my wife as a house- 
keeper. But the thought of marrying a 
woman, in whose presence I could never be 
sure that she would not make some mistake 
that would reveal her ignorance and her inex- 
perience, would be unbeai'able to me.” 

“Can it be that you are still thinking of 
Frederika von Sesenheim? The young lady 
whom you are going to visit has cultured 
parents and is undoubtedly carefully taught. 
I for my part agree with your parents, that it 
is much easier for a bright woman to acquire 
a social polish denied her by surroundings or 
opportunity in early life, than it is for a 
woman never trained to household order and 
cares to understand and learn to create the 
atmosphere of a comfortable and well man- 
aged home. If I found such a woman, I as- 
sure you I wouldn’t worry about her social 
polish. I’d trust that she’d acquire it, and if 

20 


OLD FRIENDS 


she did not it is only a secondary consideration 
at best.” 

“That depends, Charles. In certain cir- 
cles—” 

“Don’t be angry with me,” replied Charles. 
“But just at present you seem to me like a 
hungry child crying for candy and refusing 
bread and butter. You don’t know how to 
appreciate a comfortable home, because you’ve 
never been without one. If you’d learned, as 
I have, what it means to wander from board- 
ing-house to boarding-house, at the mercy of 
laundresses and housekeepers, and cleaning 
women and all the hosts of serving spirits who 
never serve, you’d know what a comfortable 
home means in a man’s life.” 

Otto got up gaily. “Well spoken, bravely 
defended. It is particularly refreshing to 
find you holding such solid and stable opinions, 
for artists are usually credited with allowing 
their emotions to run away with their sense. 
One thing, however, is settled — we will both 
go to Rauheneck to-morrow. I’ll present you 
to my friends, and you’ll have an opportunity 
to become acquainted with Carola.” 

“I don’t know whether I shall accept your 
invitation or not. It might be that we would 

21 


OLD FRIENDS 


both fall in love with her. At any rate,” he 
added in a lighter manner, have all the 

advantages as compared to me. But we 
mustn’t forget the present in the contempla- 
tion of your future chances. The promenade 
is showing signs of lif e ; I reserve the privilege 
of taking up this theme after the concert. It 
is easier to talk about such things after the 
noise of the day is over and the lights are out. 
It seems to me almost like a profanation to 
discuss the young lady in sober daylight by 
the open window of my bachelor abode. 
Nevertheless I’d be willing to wager ten to one 
that you will find her exceedingly charming.” 
“And why do you think that?” 

“I can’t tell you, but you’ll find that it is so.” 
“There is one thing about her that pleases 
me greatly as it is.” 

“And what is that?” Charles asked expec- 
tantly. 

“That her name is the feminine of that of 
my very best, my dearest friend.” 

Charles looked at him warmly. “No one 
has ever been as dear to me as you, Otto,” he 
said, “and I believe and hope that we are to 
be friends for life.” 


22 


OLD FRIENDS 


“For life, Charles. I can think of nothing 
■which could part us.” 

“Then I must not go to Rauheneck ■with 
you,” Charles said in reply. “I am beginning 
to feel embarrassed even now when I think of 
Carola, and it would really be too tragic if 
both of us should — ” 

He did not finish, and Otto took up the 
thought, saying gaily: “And if it were to be 

so, it should not part us. If you should prove 
the happier man I would devote myself with 
greater energy to my explorations, and you 
for your part, if you lost, would find peace by 
immortalizing and idealizing her image in your 
art.” 

“Don’t speak so lightly, Otto. There must 
be something peculiar about love. Philosophy 
ends at this chapter.” 

“Oh, yes, with weak-hearted and character- 
less fools. Not with real men.” 

Charles looked at him dubiously. 

“That is a point upon which you must make 
up your mind before you ever fall in love at 
all,” Otto went on in a superior manner. 
“You must never permit yourself to be gov- 
erned entirely by your emotions. Reason, my 

23 


OLD FRIENDS 


friend, reason must always remain in control 
or you are lost. Why are there so many un- 
happy marriages? Because people do not use 
their reason at the beginning of an acquaint- 
ance. Afterward they are too much taken up 
with each other, and too blind to the mutual 
qualities to reason about anything, and by the 
time their eyes are really opened it is too late. 
Oh, if one has an anxious mother all this is 
made clear to you in time. Moreover, science 
will always be my first and dearest love. 
Sometimes, I think, my only love.” 

“Well,” Charles put in laughingly, “I am 
consoling myself with the thought that theory 
and practice are often and usually miles apart. 
If it were not so, I would be sorry for your 
future wife.” 

“On the contrary, don’t misunderstand me. 
My attitude can only be a gain to her. I 
wouldn’t make half so many demands on her 
as would a man who looks for all the happiness 
of his life in marriage.” 

It had become cooler outside and a number 
of people were walking along under the great 
trees. 

“I didn’t think that you could possibly have 
such fine shops here,” said Otto, lingering in 

24 


OLD FRIENDS 


front of the window of an art shop. “Look 
at those beautiful etchings. One might almost 
call them masterpieces.” 

“You are right. I often stop here to look 
at one thing or another. Recently there was 
a very excellent — but look there, quick!” He 
interrupted himself while his voice sank to a 
whisper. “Did you ever see anything more 
beautiful ?” 

“Where? What?” asked Otto staring at 
his friend. 

“Look inside, quick — she is perfectly charm- 
ing.” 

“Who?” Otto was going to ask. But the 
question died on his lips, and, as if caught 
by a spell, his eyes, too, rested on the lovely 
girl who was looking at prints inside, her 
graceful body bent slightly over the counter. 
She seemed to select two of them, and, after 
saying a few words more to the young man 
who was waiting on her, turned to go. Otto 
looked mechanically toward the door in which 
the slender figure appeared a moment later. 
A pair of soulful dark eyes met his for a mo- 
ment. But it was only for a moment. Then 
she turned and went around the corner into 
the next street. 


25 


OLD FRIENDS 


“Did you see her? Wasn’t she the most 
charming blond that ever — ” 

“What, a blond? A blond? She was dark. 
At least she had the most beautiful brown eyes 
that one could imagine.” 

“Why, Otto — Oh, yes, that is so. She 
had a companion. Could you possibly mean 
her?” 

“I don’t know. I saw but the one.” 

“Why, that is fine. I, at least, saw that 
there were two of them. But how you could 
overlook the blond, I don’t understand. She 
was mueh larger and statelier than the other 
one.” 

“I saw but one pair of eyes and they were 
very dark.” 

ft’ 

“That may be so. I don’t know. But why 
didn’t we follow them, instead of standing 
here — ” 

“May be we can still follow. It isn’t too 
late. Hurry,” said Otto, going around the 
corner. “They can hardly be twenty feet 
ahead of us.” 

“Yes, but this town is cut up into so many 
short blocks. Can you see anything? Your 
eyes are better than mine.” 

“Nothing but a light dress seems to be 

26 


OLD FRIENDS 


disappearing over there? Could that he 
them?” 

The friends hastened their footsteps, but 
they found nothing, and, after following il- 
lusive figures through several blocks, they con- 
cluded to go back to their rooms and dress for 
the concert. 

“They will be at the concert, for everybody 
is going to be there,” Charles said when they 
arrived at his room. The friends had spoken 
very little on the way back, as each was per- 
haps a little ashamed of his absorbing interest 
in a passing face. “For my part,” Charles 
went on then, “any hesitation I had between 
a black tie and dark gloves or a white tie and 
white gloves is settled. Can I help you out 
with one or the other?” 

Otto smiled slyly and took a package of tis- 
sue paper out of his handbag. 

“Ah, that’s nice,” Charles nodded. “You’re 
of my opinion, I see. The concert has become 
more important in your eyes. We’ll keep 
near the entrance. W e’ll surelv sret there be- 
fore the ladies, for it will certainly take them 
longer to dress than it does us. And now 
come, brother.” 

To their astonishment they found the large 

27 


OLD FRIENDS 


auditorium almost filled, although there was 
a good half hour left before the beginning of 
the concert. “This is painful punctuality, 
Charles,” said Otto. “Look at all the ladies 
who are already crowded up near the plat- 
form.” 

“You go up toward the front. You may 
look at the medallion paintings in the frieze 
for awhile, and reconnoiter a little. I shall 
stay down here and watch the people coming 
in.” 

Otto nodded. His eye-glasses Avere flash- 
ing here and there even then. No matter how 
hard he looked, he saw nothing but strange 
faces, and concluded at last that he had better 
look about for a seat. Charles was coming 
toward him. His quest, too, had been in vain. 

After an introductory selection by the or- 
chestra, there was a solemn silence and all eyes 
rested expectantly on the stage, which showed 
a fine platform. 

“See, there, isn’t that one of them?” Avhis- 
pered Charles, nudging his friend, who was 
lost in reveries. When Otto looked up at the 
platf orm, he saw a tall young woman in a flow- 
ing white garment. She held a bouquet of 
white camellias and violets in her hand. Her 

28 


OLD FRIENDS 


dark, wavy hair was bound together by a sil- 
ver fillet, its only ornament. 

“She seems like a Delphic priestess, who is 
to announce our fate in advance,” said Otto, 
as he shook his head. “I am anxious to hear 
what she will say.” 

In a fvdl and even voice, the reader began 
her tale. She took her audience into a quiet 
valley in Switzerland, whose inhabitants were 
still untouched by the confusion and the strife 
of the world outside. The words flowed from 
her lips as soft and pleasing as the pictures 
she unfolded. But her tone became more ten- 
der, more moving, as she began to speak of the 
love which bound two young shepherd children. 

“Then it happened that a strange hunter 
came into the valley. He was tall of figure 
and slender, and his face was full of strength 
and gentleness. He was pleasant to all the 
people, but when he saw Ita his eyes shone and 
his cheeks took a higher color. Soon Ita’s 
companions and friends tAvitted her playfully 
about the handsome hunter. Half in jest and 
half in earnest, Lienhardt’s friends warned 
him against the spell which the stranger was 
casting over his girl. But Lienhardt paid 
no attention to such talk. Even as Ita grew 

29 


OLD FRIENDS 


more shy and reserved, avoiding being alone 
with him whenever possible, he did not suspect 
the real cause of her changed manner. So 
firm was his belief in her love. But, one day, 
when he came at an unexpected hour and 
sought the pine tree under which he was wont 
to meet her, he found the hunter standing be- 
fore her, holding her hand and looking into 
her eyes. His heart seemed to turn to ice. 
Without a word he went away from the yalley 
and wandered around in the wide, wide world. 

“But the son of the mountains and the hills 
is neyer happy out there. Great though the 
beauty of the fertile plains may be, something 
draws him back yearningly to the narrow 
boundary which he left behind, the gorges and 
the yales in which he was at home. The fibers 
of his innermost being cling to these. So it 
was, too, that before two years had passed, 
Lienhardt stood once more on the very place 
from which he had turned in wild pain. How 
desolate all was now round about him! The 
cold wind of November moaned through the 
tree tops and shook dead branches and yellow 
leaves on the brown earth at his feet. Like a 
suffering soul it wailed over the heights, which 
the returning wanderer had climbed. Lonely 

30 


OLD FRIENDS 


and gray seemed to him now the beloved val- 
ley, for which he had yearned and pined in 
the strangers’ land. His mind and heart had 
pictured it ever in the bloom of spring and 
the joy of summer. When he went among 
the people and asked hesitatingly about Ita, 
he learned that she had never been merry and 
gay again after his going, but had refused the 
hunter, who had also left the valley soon after. 
She herself then went up into the Alps, away 
up into the mountains, and was living as a 
dairymaid in a place on the heights, from 
which she had vowed never to come down 
again. 

“After this Lienhardt wandered from 
mountain to mountain. Whenever he saw a 
herder’s hut, a bit of high pastureland, or 
dairy house, he went to ask after the maid he 
sought. Each time, however, the answer but 
sent him farther on his wanderings, his heart 
filled with increasing bitterness. Thus winter 
came on. One day Lienhardt was crossing 
the mountain as village messenger. The snow 
was falling in thick, silent flakes. No living 
being passed him. No sound was to be heard. 
Listen ! Out of the depths somewhere a f aint 
cry seemed to reach him. He threw himself 

31 


OLD FRIENDS 


on the ground, and leaning over the edge of 
the precipice he saw the figure of a woman, 
who seemed to be making the last exhausted 
eff orts to keep her hold on a pro j ecting ledge. 
He threw down his pack, tore otf his heavj'^ 
coat, and started down. Below was the sheer 
precipice, the ground was slippery and yield- 
ing under tlie falling snow, and his hands were 
torn on the sharp edges of the rocks and the 
thorns of the straggling bushes to which he 
clung. At last he reached the ledge. But 
what was his feeling when he loosened the 
frantic clutch of the woman on the ledge and 
turned her face, half unconscious from fear 
and exhaustion, to his. 

“The features that had haunted his memory 
in all their rosy youth and health now looked 
up at him, pale with the pallor almost of death. 

“But there was no time for thought and 
emotions. With almost superhuman strength, 
Lienhardt dragged the chilled girl up to 
safety. Then he knelt down beside her and 
tried to revive her. But she did not move. 
Frantic with fear he called her by the caress- 
ing, dear names which his tenderness had once 
given her. Then she oj>ened her eyes and 
whispered ‘Lienhardt.’ 

32 


OLD FRIENDS 


“And before this one word, this one look 
full of gratitude, love, and contrition, all Lien- 
hardt’s bitterness of heart and mind yielded, 
as does snow to the touch of the warm sun. 
Two lonely, saddened, and unhappy human 
beings had wandered up to the heights on this 
day — a pair of happy lovers returned to the 
valley.” 

There was silence for a moment when the 
artist had ended her reading. Then the au- 
dience broke into rapturous applause, in which 
Charles joined heartly. Otto on his part, 
however, sat silent and unmoved, and but half 
answered Charles’ occasional remarks. 

As they were going out, he whispered to 
Charles: “Let us wait a little in the lobby 

and on the stairs.” Charles nodded. The 
crowd proved so great that Otto said disgust- 
edly after a moment, “One would have to have 
more than one pair of human eyes to distin- 
guish any one here.” 

“You are right,” Charles answered gaily. 
“Let us go and have a little supper, and then 
I’ll take you around a bit before we go home. 
I always feel the necessity of walking around 
a little after an evening like this to let the 
echoes of what I have heard and felt die out 

33 


OLD FRIENDS 


pleasantly, so to say. Otherwise they haunt 
my dreams. How did you like the concert?” 
“It was better, far better, than I expected. 
Everything was well rendered, even that which 
was least worthy of masterly rendition.” 

“Do you mean the reading?” 

“Well, yes. That Swiss tale was very well 
told, but you surely have no sympathy with 
the simple fact of the narrative. Lienhardt 
was a very stupid fellow. I never believe in 
such soft-hearted reconciliations. It’s non- 
sense.” 

“Yes, that’s so. If lovers would hut be 
sensible, how many fewer foolish people there 
would be in the world. But they rarely ask 
advice, and, if they do, they do not follow it. 
In this case, however, I do not know that I 
am of your opinion. To me the whole motive 
of the story was in the fact that all his bitter- 
ness and anger vanished at her look and voice, 
and that he remembered nothing save that she 
had been the joy of his life. Is it not the dis- 
tinction of love, that it raises us above every- 
thing, and accomplishes that which seems im- 
possible to cold reason?” 

“That is well said. But just put yourself 
in his place. Would you be satisfied to do as 

34 


OLD FRIENDS 


« 


the lady on the stage pictured Lienhardt as 
doing? I wouldn’t, I can tell you. If I — ” 

“Oh, I don’t know that I should exactly 
desire such a romance in my own life, yet if it 
ended happily, what matter ? But you are too 
serious this evening. I don’t know whether it 
is the fault of the ‘deep, dark eyes’ of this 
afternoon, or of the forest lady, as I find my- 
self calling the young woman at Rauheneck, 
or — ” 

“As if seriousness had not its basis in ex- 
actly the opposite conditions from those which 
produce emotional impressions! Though, to 
tell the truth, I should have liked to have had 
one more look into those eyes. But by to- 
morrow morning I shall probably have for- 
gotten all about her. At least — ” 

“Here is our restaurant,” interrupted 
Charles. “But to be as frank as you are, I 
don’t mind saying that I did hope to catch 
another glimpse of the blond. I for my part, 
am even afraid that a night’s sleep will not 
efface the impression.” 

“There is a good side to everything,” Otto 
said, jokingly. “Now, you will not be afraid 
to go with me to see the lady of the forest.” 


35 


CHAPTER II 


KAMPASPE 

The Castellan at Mannheim was much sur- 
prised the next morning to be called on to 
show the treasures of the castle at an hour 
long before that when visitors usualty claimed 
his attention. When one of the young gen- 
tlemen, however, assured him that he had 
heard, even in Berlin, of the collection of 
paintings at IMannheim, the old man was so 
flattered that he became amenable at once. 
He led them to a long narrow gallery, and 
pointing to a series of pictures, a cycle so to 
say, he began: “Alexander has his friend 

Apelles paint the beautiful Kampaspe for him. 

“Undoubtedly you gentlemen know the 
story of these lovers better than I do, and so 
you can judge for yourselves how delicately 
the artist acquitted himself of his task. Ob- 
serve the first picture. How calmly Apelles 
studies the beautiful woman. She is merely 
an object which his brush is to reproduce. 

36 


KAMPASPE 


Then follow the poses and expressions of the 
next pictures. Even a person who had never 
heard the story of the artist’s love and Alex- 
ander’s magnanimity, could guess the tale from 
these pictures.” 

“What a beautiful woman!” said Otto in- 
voluntarily. “No wonder that the artist hesi- 
tates to begin. The women who surround her, 
graceful as they are, seem hut to form a back- 
ground and a foil for her superior charms.” 
Charles nodded and gazed in silence on the 
group. At last he whispered to Otto, “Do 
you know of whom she reminds me? Of the 
beautiful blond of yesterday.” 

Otto looked at him in astonishment and then 
turned back to the painting. 

“Moreover,” Charles continued, mvste- 
riously, “there is said to be a second story be- 
hind these pictures, not unlike the historical 
one presented — ^but with a very ditferent end- 
ing — but I’ll tell you about it later.” 

“No, no, tell me now. These paintings in- 
terest me A^ery much. Does not Kampaspe 
seem more beautiful in each picture?” 

“To be sure, because her face is beautified 
more and more by an awakening affection. 
According to the old chronicles, the lady who 

37 


KAMPASPE 


posed for these pictures was beloved by one of 
the princes of this house. He was a wild, 
reckless fellow, who recognized neither law 
nor wish, save his own desires. You can im- 
agine the conditions at court under such a 
regime. Then it happened that when out 
hunting one day he saw a very beautiful girl 
at a lonely farmhouse. He wanted to take 
her with him, but her parents would not part 
with their child for any price he could offer. 
They watched and guarded her every step 
after that. Nevertheless, one day she was 
gone, carried off by force. They could easily 
guess who had brought this grief and shame 
upon them. At court there Avere whisperings 
about the same time of a new and mysterious 
spell that had come upon the Prince and held 
him so that he neglected his usual diversions. 
The wild banquets and orgies that had dis- 
graced the palace were a thing of the past, and 
he became so conscientious in all matters per- 
taining to his government and his relations to 
the people, that his accomplices and assistants 
who helped him carry off the little country 
beauty began to regret that they had abetted 
this last whim. The simple, inexperienced 
child of the people, of aa^ioiu they had hoped 

38 


KAMPASPE 


to make a pliant tool, useful in furthering 
their own ends, had become the most fearless 
and fearful opponent to all their schemes. 

“In the meantime, the girl was being in- 
structed with the greatest care in the outward 
f orms of the great world, and given a touch of 
the learning and accomplishments deemed 
most needful at court. When, after a year’s 
time, the Prince presented her at court as his 

friend, the Countess Sophie of M , none 

knew at which to marvel most, the extraor- 
dinary beauty or the grace of bearing and 
charm of manner of the new favorite. But 
there was even greater astonishment when it 
was perceived that her influence over the in- 
constant and capricious ruler was apparently 
to be a lasting one. The Castle, which had 
been shunned by the subjects, now became the 
place of appeal for all who were oppressed and 
suffering, and the name ‘Sophie,’ hated and 
feared by the sycophants at court, was hailed 
all over the land as that of a saving angel. 

“Thus years passed over the land, years 
which the people blessed, even as they had be- 
moaned the earlier ones. But at the court the 
dissatisfaction was growing all the while, and 
the Countess Sophie was the target against 

39 


KAMPASPE 


which all the mean intrigue and petty cabals 
of the vicious and disappointed were directed. 
The very things, however, which it had been 
hoped would be her downfall, her ignorance 
of the slippery court methods and her frank 
fearlessness, seemed to strengthen her hold 
upon the mind and the heart of the Prince, 
whose companion she had been for so long.” 

Otto looked skeptical. 

“Yes, even on his heart, Otto, as you will 
admit, when you have heard the end. Her 
courage inspired him with the moral' strength 
which he had lost by his former associations 
and the low yielding to his baser self. There 
was, too, in his relations to the Countess, the 
feeling that the mental development of this 
beautiful and clever woman was his work, and 
that, in return, she lived but for him and was 
truly devoted to his welfare, as was no other 
human being. This was to him at once a sat- 
isfaction and a joy that renewed itself every 
day. 

“About this time a strange artist came to 
court with letters of introduction and recom- 
mendation to the Prince. As soon as the 
Prince was convinced of the ability of the 
artist, he was delighted to have an opportunity 

40 


KAMPASPE 


to have a picture painted of his beloved Sophie. 
But he could not settle in his mind whether 
he wanted to have her portrayed in a simple 
gown, or in a more elaborate costume. In this 
dilermna the painter suggested this idea, as 
giving an opportunity for a series of pictures. 
The Prince was delighted, and the artist, for 
his part, saw before him the possibilities of 
fame and wealth. The longer the artist came 
in contact with the beautiful woman, whom he 
had regarded almost contemptuously at first, 
the clearer it became to him that she was more 
to be pitied than condemned. To her, too, 
there came a new understanding — an under- 
standing of what she might have been and of 
what she had become — ^and she began to de- 
spise the man who had robbed her of that which 
can not be offset by any earthly possessions 
nor fame.” 

“I see you can not tear yourself away from 
these pictures,” said the old Castellan, when 
Charles paused. “They seem to affect many 
people that way.” 

“Isn’t it true,” asked Charles, “that there 
is some tragic memory interwoven with them?” 

The old Castellan shrugged his shoulders 
and nodded his head. “You seem to know the 

41 


KAMPASPE 


story, sir, or I wouldn’t speak of it. Yes, if 
these walls could talk we should hear things 
which would make our hearts start with hor- 
ror. As for the artist and the beautiful 
Countess, that was just as the gentleman told 
the storj^ At last, when he could not help 
himself any longer, he told her in words what 
his eyes had long led her to guess. Then she 
replied that he, too, had become dear to her, 
and through him she had learned for the first 
time to value ^he worth of the real things of 
lif e, but that she understood, too, that she was 

4 

no longer worthy to reach out after them. At 
this he begged and entreated her to come with 
him and begin a new life as his wife. She 
remained firm. He, however, could not give 
up the hope of winning her for his own some 
time, and before he left he introduced a trusty 
man to her, to whom she might send word if 
she should change her mind or need his help. 

“The pictures were finished and the Prince 
was in raptures over them. They became even 
dearer to him when she whom they pictured 
became ill and persistently refused to see him. 
He waited longingly for the day when she 
would send for him. When, at last, she did 
receive him, however, it was a crushing disap- 

42 


KAMPASPE 


pointment. Cold and severe as a priestess of 
justice she confronted him. She reproached 
him with robbing her of all that is dear to 
woman, and told him that her eyes had been 
opened and that every bond between them must 
be broken. 

“The Prince left her without replying. He 
felt more than ever how dear she had become 
to him, and no sacrifice seemed too great to 
win her love again. But no matter what he 
proposed, nor how he entreated, she shut her- 
self away from him and from everybody else, 
and insisted that the only favor she craved of 
him was to be permitted to go in peace. A fter 
that he had her watched at every turn, for fear 
that she might escape. 

“The time now seemed favorable to her ene- 
mies at court for her final overthrow. They 
were shrewd enough, however, to realize that 
they must be exceedingly careful in Avhat they 
did. Occasionally a sympathetic look, a shy 
word was meant to give the Prince the feeling 
that his secret grief was suspected and re- 
spected. At last he who had abducted the 
Countess when she was but a child, and who 
had once been the intimate of the Prince, ven- 
tured tentatively to say a few consoling words 

43 


KAMPASPE 


to the ruler. The Prince had always known 
very Avell how the Countess’ attitude chagrined 
this man and made him one of her bitterest 
enemies, and he had avoided mentioning her 
name in his presence. Sore at heart he forgot 
his resolutions this time in the desire for relief 
and sympathy. 

“It would take too long to set forth all the 
intriguing and plotting that was set on foot 
now to accomplish her final downfall. They 
tried to convince the Prince that threats and 
severity would have more effect to bring her 
back to him than entreaties and complaints. 
When they did not succeed in breaking her 
spirit in this way, she was accused of trying 
to poison the Prince and was treated as a pris- 
oner.” 

“Go on, go on,” said Charles, as the man 
paused. “I did not know this last part.” 

“The chronicles of the castle give no further 
details. If you want to know more we must 
go to some other source. A few miles from 

here, in the border town of W , the local 

executioner, who also knew some medi- 
cine, was entreated by an unknown man to 
come to the next village with him, as there was 
a very sick man there who needed his attention. 

44 


KAMPASPE 


The man went along unthinkingly. As a 
rule he was not sent for until about dusk, as his 
dread office made people shrink from being 
seen with him in the daylight. 

“But he had hardly left the outskirts of the 
little town when he was seized from behind and 
thrown to the ground. In a moment his eyes 
were bandaged and he felt the point of a dag- 
ger on his breast, and a voice said in his ear: 
‘Do not move or it will be your death.’ 

“Then he was lifted into a Avagon and the 
next moment the horses were galloping across 
the country. Whenever he made the slight- 
est move he felt himself held down on each 
side. Thus the man and his unseen captors 
went on for hours until he almost lost con- 
sciousness. At last the wagon stopped and he 
was lifted out. Then he was led through a 
number of long corridors before he was told 
to stand still. Tie felt a goblet held to his lips 
from which arose a warm pungent odor and a 
low voice said ‘Drink.’ The hot drink rolled 
through his veins like fire. Then he was led on 
further through what seemed like damp vaults 
and cellars. Finally a door was opened and a 
warm and pleasant air filled his nostrils. He 
seemed to hear a murmur of voices, and the 

45 


KAMPASPE 


sound of his footsteps echoed curiously from 
the floor. 

“Suddenly there was deathly silence, and 
then a voice began speaking close beside him: 
‘Swear,’ it said, ‘by this crucifix which I am 
raising before you, and by the office to which 
you are hound, swear by your eternal salva- 
tion and by the certainty of being punished at 
once if you break your oath, never to betray 
by even a word what you will see, hear, and do 
now.’ He felt the point of the dagger against 
his breast again, a hand seized his and laid it 
against the crucifix. Then he stammered : ‘I 

swear it,’ and as soon as he had spoken the 
words, the bandage was taken from his eyes. 

“For a moment he stood dazzled by the 
lights. But he soon discovered that he was 
standing in a wide, high-arched room. On a 
platform a few yards away from him there sat 
twelve men whose faces were concealed bv 
black masks. Before them stood a table cov- 
ered with a black cloth. On it lay some rolls 
of manuscript that looked like legal docu- 
ments. In the middle of the table stood a 
crucifix surrounded by burning tapers. Just 
beside him there was an executioner’s block 
and a keen, glittei'ing ax. He looked about 

46 


KAMPASPE 


shuddering. Where and who was the victim? 

“Then a wonderfully beautiful woman was 
led in by two masked men. One of the twelve 
masks at the table rose and said in a muffled 
voice: ‘Attend to your office, executioner.’ 

“A cold horror filled him. He stared at the 
beautiful woman, who waved away the masked 
men when they put out their hands to loosen 
the kerchief which covered her beautiful 
shoulders. Then she raised her white arms 
and, dividing the long, blond hair so that it 
fell away from her white neck, knelt down 
silently in front of the block. 

“ ‘I can not,’ groaned the executioner. ‘I 
can not and will not murder this woman.’ 

“ ‘Then you will not leave this room alive, 
while she, for her part, will be executed just 
the same.’ 

“ ‘But she is innocent — ^she is no criminal,’ 
he entreated anxiously. 

“Then she raised her pale, beautiful face 
to him and said with a look full of gratitude 
and compassion: ‘Do not hesitate. I am 
ready.’ 

“And, as he still stood there shrinking from 
his task, she raised herself to her feet once 
more and said aloud and with a firm voice: 

47 . 


KAMPASPE 


‘I call upon God to witness that I am innocent 
of that of which these wretches accuse me. 
But,’ she went on in a lower voice, ‘I am ready 
to suffer death as an expiation for my former 
life. May God have mercy on me.’ Then 
she knelt down again, bound the bandage over 
her eyes and whispered to him: ‘Be quick, so 
that these who are watching us may not see me 
tremble.’ 

“Then he seized the ax and obeyed. After 
that he neither saw nor heard what was going 
on about him. He hardly felt that he was 
seized once more and bound. He but heard, 
over and over again, the strokes of the clock 
striking twelve, sounding out like the trumpets 
of Judgment Day, just as he dealt the terrible 
blow. He did not know how he had reached 
his home, nor how he had got into his bed when 
he waked the next morning from a confused 
and feverish sleep. 

“For years he went about after that, moody 
and silent, trying to forget the memory of 
that night and seeking in vain for a clue that 
would throw light on the mystery of the beau- 
tiful woman whom he had executed. A friend 
of his cliildhood whom he had deemed dead 
for many years, as he had not heard from him 

48 


KAMPASPE 


for years, sent him word one day that he had 
returned to his native country and had taken 
service in Castle Mannheim. He begged him 
to come to visit him there. This reminder of an 
ancient friendship was a balm to the soul of 
the lonely man, now more shunned than ever 
by his neighbors and acquaintances on ac- 
count of his constant melancholy. He en- 
joyed this visit as he had nothing for years, 
and delayed his return from day to day. One 
day, however, he and his friend happened to 
pass through the great banquet hall of the 
Castle and he noted how strangely the foot- 
steps seemed to re-echo as they walked along. 
Suddenly, as he was thinking of this sound, 
the castle clock struck the noon hour. All the 
horrors of memory woke once more, and with 
the cry: ‘That is the clock,’ he sank to the 
ground unconscious. 

“Several days passed before his mind was 
clear again. When his friend asked him then 
what he meant by those words he did not want 
to answer at first. But when he was told that 
he raved constantly in his delirium of a beauti- 
ful woman, with blond hair and a black velvet 
gown, whom he had murdered, and that the 
doctor had shaken his head and said that it was 

49 


KAMPASPE 


a strange fancy even in delirium, he unbur- 
dened his tortured soul, begging his friend, 
for the love of God, not to betrav him, as he 
feared the vengeance of the masked men. 
But he was not to tremble before the wrath of 
man any more, for the third day after his con- 
fession he died peacefully and quietly. 

“The terrible act did not bring the expected 
success to the plotters. They never regained 
their former influenee with the Prince. He 
remained silent and melaneholy up to his death. 
He is said to have sat for hours, sometimes, 
before these pictures, lost in grief over the 
rashness and weakness that led him to listen to 
the enemies of the Countess. It was said the 
argument used to induce him to sign the death 
warrant was that it was only to be used to 
frighten the Countess. Still nothing definite 
is known on this point. This much is certain, 
however, the great hall was never again used 
on festal occasions. It is now a sort of 
museum where antiquities, particularly Pom- 
peiian and Etruscan urns, are kept. The 
great clock in the castle in the hall will also 
interest you now. It really has a peculiar, 
sonorous sound, that makes one think of the 
tolling of a funeral bell. I can assure you 

50 


KAMPASPE 


that I never hear it striking the hour without 
thinking of the Countess Sophie.” 

“Perhaps you will kindly show us the 
clock,” Charles suggested. “Our time is so 
limited, and, after the story and the sight of 
these pictures, the rest will hardly have much 
charm for us. What do you think, Otto?” 

“I agree with you.” 

“Nevertheless, there are many things that 
might interest you in passing,” said the Castel- 
lan obligingly. “Here for instance, this gem 
by Wouvermans. It cost eight thousand dol- 
lars, too. Then these dancing girls by Rubens. 
The ladies are usually especially interested in 
them, because it is said that the faces are the 
portraits of the four wives of Rubens. The 
f ourth one, with whom he did not live happily, 
he is said to have punished by painting her so 
that her back is turned to the spectator.” 
When the friends reached the great hall 
they could not help but shudder as they looked 
at the reddish tones in the marble slabs of the 
floor. The Castellan whispered meaningly 
that there were many more things of interest 
recorded in the chronicles of the castle, hut a 
later generation would he able to speak of 
them more freely. So they took leave of him 

51 


KAMPASPE 


with profound thanks, as he led the way down 
to the entrance hall. 

“The beautiful Countess has held us in her 
spell too long as it is,” Charles said laughingly, 
hut as he turned his head he started. A tall 
blond woman was just disappearing under the 
arched entrance. He seemed just to catch her 
eye, as she turned. 

“Who was that?” he asked of Otto. 

“Kampaspe,” said Otto teasingly. 

“Yes, it was she, the blond of yesterday.” 
A moment later they were outside and looking 
down the path which the lady must have taken, 
but a company of guards marching up just 
then shut off the view. “Let us try another 
path,” said Otto. 

“And lose her as well as our time,” said 
Charles practically. “Better come to my 
studio and get ready to take the train to see 
the forest lady.” 

“But even there your thoughts will be turn- 
ing back to Kampaspe.” 

“I don’t know,” said Charles. “I believe 
her beauty has merely startled me. And your 
thoughts — ^aren’t they even a little bit on her 
companion of yesterday?” 

“Not to-day, as yet,” said Otto seriously. 

52 


KAMPASPE 


“You will undoubtedly have a chance to see 
them again, and when you do listen well — a 
little bird will fly out into the forest and sing 
a song to me about it. We were both touehed 
a little, Charles, and it may be well that one of 
us is going to stay here on guard, even if it 
were but to find out whether the extraordinary 
impression made on both of us was but a trick 
of the senses, or if it was in truth the outward 
suggestion of two beautiful souls.” 



CHAPTER III 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 

“Lamprecht, next station,” and the guard 
opened the door of the coupe in which the 
friends had fortunately remained alone. 
They hurried out and Otto went to the inn to 
arrange to have their luggage sent after them 
and to ask the way, as they had made up their 
minds not to send word of their coming, but 
to leave themselves that rare pleasure, growing 
constantly more rare, a foot journey over the 
hills and through the Avoods. 

“Now it must be about three miles to Rauh- 
eneck,” said Charles seating himself on the 
stump of a tree. “I feel like waiting here and 
making a few sketches. Such a light and such 
a view are not granted every day, even in the 
forest.” 

“Very well,” said Otto and threw himself 
on the grassy moss at his feet. 

Suddenlj'^ the two started up and looked at 
each other in astonishment. Right close to 

54 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


them they heard a clear and hell-like voice sing- 
ing Mendelssohn’s exquisite spring song. 
When the song was done they heard a man’s 
voice saying: “Don’t you know something 

else? That is a regular girl’s song, with its 
songs and sighs, and birds and brides, and the 
one who ought to be here and is not. Surely, 
child, you do not mean it?” 

“Oh, well, but, father dear, when one sings 
it must sound as if one meant it, must it not?” 

Charles had been making exploratory at- 
tempts and now winked to Otto to elimb up on 
a fallen tree on which he himself was standing. 
To the right of them the ground rose sharply 
and here, between a group of tall, old oaks, 
they could see the roof of a little, rustic arbor. 
The two people sitting in it had their backs 
half turned toward them. One was a stockily 
built man in a gray hunting jacket, trimmed 
with green, who seemed to be giving his entire 
attention to the girl who was sitting on a stool 
beside him. 

She too was dressed in gray and the only 
toueh of color was a bright belt at her waist 
and a soft, white collar at her white throat. 
The thick, dark braids were held up by a silver 
comb. Her slender hand was stroking the 

55 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


head of a great, white hound that lay at her 
feet, watehing her with its expressive eyes. 

“It’s a good thing,” thought Charles, “that 
the hands on my statue are not yet finished. 
What if she were the forest lady?” he said 
aloud. “Perhaps Rauheneck is nearer than 
we think.” 

Before Otto could answer the dog pricked 
up his ears and began to bay in their direc- 
tion. 

“Let us go around the slope and introduce 
ourselves and thank the young lady for the 
song to which we had the pleasure of listening. 
It will be a charming adventure, at any rate.” 

Charles hurried toward the clearing, Otto 
following, and began to climb up the rather 
steep rocks. Some projecting roots were a 
grateful help. The dog seemed ready to 
spring at them but for the girl’s restraining 
hand. The girl turned her head and Otto’s 
ever ready tongue was paralyzed and he stood 
as if rooted to the spot. He saw the faint 
blush that spread over her face, but his own 
was dark red. It was she without doubt — ^the 
dark-eyed stranger who had fascinated him so 
the day before. 

Charles, perceiving his embarrassment, be- 

56 



“Charles . . . winked to Otto to climb up on a fallen tree on 
which he himself was standing.” — Page 55, 




I 

f 

f. 


f 


\ 

t' 

I 


I 


t 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


gan to speak, and to apologize for the interrup- 
tion: “Even at the risk of seeming intrusive 

we could not forbear to stop and thank the 
young lady f or the pleasure the song, to which 
we listened without her knowledge, gave us.” 
The young girl bowed and the gentleman 
asked, “But where are you gentlemen going 
beyond here? Outside of Rauheneck there is 
not another place in this vicinity.” 

“That is where we are going,” said Charles. 
“Is it much farther?” 

“If you follow the road below, it will take 
you nearly an hour longer, but if you go right 
through the forest here, as we do, you will cut 
off considerable of the distance.” 

“As you do? Pardon me, you are — ” 
“Baerens, the head forester here,” replied 
the gentleman, “and I am beginning to think,” 
he went on eagerly, “that you are Otto Ru- 
dolph! of Berlin, the son of my dearest friend.” 
“Otto Rudolph! is here,” said Otto stepping 
forward at last, happy to meet his father’s 
friend. “It was strange I did not recognize 
you at once from the photographs I have seen 
of you. And this,” he said with shining eyes, 
holding out his hand to the young lady, “is 
Miss Carola?” Then he said more calmly, 

57 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


“This is my friend, Charles Fernau of Mann- 
heim, whom I invited to accompany me here.” 

“And so you are Otto,” said Baerens, while 
Carola held out her hand to Charles. “You 
are most welcome, both of you, to our 
home.” 

“It was good of you to come,” he said to 
Charles, “and since I took you to be Otto him- 
self at first, we will just let it go at that and 
treat you as if you were, indeed, one of the 
family. For as you may know, Otto, your 
f ather and I always treated each other as if we 
were brothers. The longer I look at you, the 
more I can see your resemblance to him, 
though, indeed, you have your mother’s blond 
hair. But how does it happen that you are 
here? Your father wrote me but two davs 
ago that you would write us from Mannheim 
and let us know when you were to arrive. W e 
would have met you in Lambrecht with the 
cart, if we had known. Where is your lug- 
gage?” 

“Some woodland sprite will bring it over 
the hills. I thought it would be pleasant to 
surprise you and we did not think it worth 
while to have a cart sent for two young fel- 
lows like us.” • 


58 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


“The surprise was a success both ways it 
seems to me. Well go home now, and then 
well see if mother will guess which of you is 
Otto any better than I did. She was busy 
with preparations for your visit. Carola was 
helping her, but I carried her off with me, 
although I sent for her to come back as soon 
as I got your father’s letter. She was visit- 
ing a friend in Mannheim and just returned 
last evening.” 

They had gone hut a few steps when 
Charles suddenly exclaimed, “I left my draw- 
ings below. Just wait a moment, please,” 
and he hurried back. 

“Is your friend a painter?” Baerens asked 
of Otto. 

“Painter and sculptor,” Otto said. 

“He has a frank and kindly face. I am 
glad you brought him along. Yet I wouldn’t 
have thought him an artist. There does not 
seem to be anything of the typical artist in his 
appearance.” 

“But there is something in the expression 
of his face,” said Carola. “One can see at 
once that his thoughts are occupied with the 
ideal.” 

Otto looked at her in astonishment and scru- 

59 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


tinized the face of his friend, just then rising 
above the steep decline. Truly Carola was 
right. For his part he had never before no- 
ticed how fine and noble was the expression 
of his face. He was surprised that this 
young girl should have noticed and under- 
stood this quality at once. All the more so, 
since his friend could make no claim to being 
handsome, hardly even to what would gener- 
ally be considered an attractive exterior. The 
long, thin face was dominated altogether by 
the nose, the heavy, dark eyebrows gave him 
a severe, almost stern, appearance, softened 
only by the pleasant expression of the brown 
eyes. The high forehead and the kindly 
mouth were all that redeemed the face. 

The little company went on, until they came 
to the edge of the forest, where, in a wide val- 
ley beyond, they could see the village of Rauh- 
eneck spread out before them. The slender 
spire of the church towered above the houses 
grouped around it. Carola pointed out a large 
white house with green shutters as their own, 
and then the little company started down the 
hill, Charles walking with the young lady, and 
Otto with her father. Otto listened indiffer- 
ently to his companion as he told him of the 

60 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


various interesting points and people of the 
vicinity. The young man could not take his 
eyes from the figure ahead of him. He could 
hardly believe that he was to spend weeks in 
her company and that she and the beautiful 
stranger of yesterday, for the chance of a 
second look at whose face he had almost post- 
poned his ti'ip out here, were one and the same 
person. It was well that she was walking 
with his friend. Otto was so overcome that 
he could not have said a word to her, and he 
did feel that he wished to make a good im- 
pression on his bride-to-be in their first intimate 
conversation. 

His bride? He accepted the word uncon- 
sciously, filled only with a great happiness at 
the thought that it was to be so. He had not 
even a pang of jealousy as he saw Charles help 
her to throw her light shawl over her shoulders 
and the two, talking eagerly, start forward 
rapidly, leaving him and Baerens behind. 

“Carola is hurrying,” explained her father, 
“to get home. The women are always think- 
ing of something that has to be done in the 
house. What plans she and her mother have 
made for your entertainment!” 

Otto hardly answered. He saw that Charles 

61 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


had stooped to pick a wild rose and hand it to 
his companion and that Carola took it with a 
smile. Charles’ suggestion, what if both were 
to fall in love with her, ran through his mind. 
Was his friend really protected by the im- 
pression the beautiful blond companion had 
made on him, or could Otto rest secure in his 
own superior attractions? 

As far as his outward appearance was con- 
cerned, Otto certainly had every advantage. 
His slender figure, his easy carriage, and the 
charm of his manner were advantages which 
weigh heavily with the fair sex and for which 
he had often been envied, not the least by 
Charles himself. He had regular features, 
and a bright and pleasing expression, with a 
pair of deep blue eyes shining behind their 
protecting glasses. 

“Are you a hunter, too, Otto?” Baerens’ 
question roused him out of his abstraction. 
He had to confess that he hardly knew how 
to hold a gun. “But I love the forest,” he 
added eagerly, “and I shall be delighted to 
accompany you whenever you care to have 
me.” 

A few moments later they reached the door 
of the house. Charles was waiting for them 

62 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


and Mrs. Baerens was coming through the 
broad hall. Carola had sent her out to see 
if she could guess which of the two young 
men was Otto. She looked at them search- 
in gly for a moment, then she went up to Otto 
and holding out her hand said, “ Y ou are Otto. 
Welcome to our house, my dear young friend.” 
Then she turned to Fernau and held out her 
hand to him, too, bidding him welcome. 

In the broad hall covered with mats, there 
was a dusky twilight already, and the open 
door at the other end gave a glimpse of a 
flickering fire in the kitchen, to which the 
housewife was hurrying back, for fear that 
something should spoil or burn if she tarried. 
“Carola is within. I shall be back in a mo- 
ment,” she called out. 

“The last door to the left leads to the sitting- 
room,” said Baerens, and, even as he spoke, 
Carola opened the door and came toward them 
smiling a second welcome. 

“Did we not see each other yesterday?” she 
asked of Otto. 

“Yes,” said Otto, blushing with embarrass- 
ment. 

“We had selected a few etchings at the art 
store. I do like etchings so much,” she went 

63 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


on. Turning to her father she said, “Just 
think, Mr. Rudolphi and I are almost old ac- 
quaintances. We met yesterday on the street 
in Mannheim.” Then she added in answer to 
his inquiring look, “I was coming out of a 
shop with Ottilie, and the gentlemen just hap- 
pened to be standing at the door.” 

“The beautiful blond,” Otto said excitedly, 
so suddenly that both Carola and her father 
looked at him in astonishment. 

The girl, however, noting his apparent con- 
fusion, went on as if she had not heard his 
remark: “Ottilie Kampe is the friend with 
whom I spent a f ew weeks in Mannheim. She 
is a dear good girl. Perhaps you know her, as 
she is living in Mannheim?” she said turning 
to Charles. 

“I never heard the young lady’s name be- 
fore. But for that matter, I have been living 
in Mannheim only a very short time and — ” 
“Carola,” said her mother at the door, and 
with a quick apology the girl was gone. 

“What a splendid room you have here,” said 
Otto, looking around in the sitting-room, 
which, being at a corner, had an outlook on 
two sides. Through one window there was a 

64 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 

glimpse of the valley lighted by the last rays 

of the sun ; on the other side, tall trees crowded 

almost to the windows and cast a twilight 

shadow over that corner. A few moments 

later Carola came hack and, taking a large 

lamp from the mantel, put it on the table and 

lighted it. Otto watched her as her slender 

hands lifted it off the chimney and screwed 

up the wick without apparently soiling even 

the tips of her fingers. “Another pair of such 

shapely hands and such dainty fingers, I do 

not believe are to he found in all the world,” 

Otto thought. “I must call Charles’ attention 

to them.” She had j)ut the lamp on the table 

and let down the curtains and began to lay 

* 

the table with dishes from the sideboard. Al- 
most at the same moment her mother came in, 
followed by a maid carrying a tray of food. 

At table Carola sat between the two young 
people, saying little, but listening with shining 
eyes. Not until Charles began to speak of his 
work, did she venture a question. She wanted 
to know who was the artist that was making 
the beautiful monument of which people were 
talking so much in Mannheim. “They say it 
is intended for the grave of a young girl, an 

65 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 

only child, over whose death the parents were 
in despair,” she added by way of explanation, 
as Charles did not answer at once. 

“Why, Charles himself is doing it,” spoke 
up Otto. “I saw it this very morning in his 
workshop, as he persists in calling his studio. 
It’s going to be magnificent.” 

They all turned to look at the young sculp- 
tor at this and he was congratulated and ques- 
tioned in one breath. 

‘T have heard so many different versions 
about it,” said Carola at last, “that I really 
have no definite idea of what is true.” 

“There was really a good deal of discussion 
before we could agree on a design,” explained 
Charles. “It had been the wish of the parents 
to see their child immortalized in marble and 
it was this idea that bothered me.” 

“But why shouldn’t they?” asked Carola. 
“The German emperors are cut on their tombs 
in Speyer.” 

Before Charles could answer her father said, 
“Well, hut they were emperors and men whose 
deeds belonged to the world. Whether they 
were a blessing or a curse to their people, the 
world has a right to their images. But for the 
simple, unknown lif e, the best memorial is some 

66 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


sign of faith on the grave. I’d like to kitow 
how our young friend managed.” 

“We have finally agreed upon a cross, set 
upon a rather high pedestal. A female figure 
is leaning against the cross and resting on an 
anchor. Her eyes are raised to heaven and 
the heart, as the emblem of charity, will be 
there too. Thus I have been able to symbolize 
some of my ideas without disappointing the 
parents — faith, hope, and charity, that lift 
the human heart above the pangs of earthly 
sorrow to the hope of heaven.” 

He spoke the words as seriously as if they 
were a confession of faith. Everyone felt 
that he was expressing his sincerest belief. 

“The pedestal,” he went on, “is to have alle- 
gorical figures in high relief. But as the 
work approaches completion it becomes more 
and more difficult. When one is trying to ex- 
press an ideal in a material medium one is al- 
ways disappointed. It was really a great en- 
couragement to me to have Otto express his 
satisfaction this morning.” 

“Satisfaction? Merely satisfaction? I was 
surprised, delighted, and would add much more 
to his description, were it not that I hope you 
will visit the studio very soon, and see for 

67 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


yourselves. And then you will bring your 
friend along too — ^what was her name?” 

“Ottilie Kampe,” said Carola. 

“That is it,” said the forester. “We will 
take Miss Kampe along too that she may ad- 
mire Mr. Fernau’s genius along with the rest 
of us.” 

Otto had regained his self-possession and 
spirits by this time, and he retold Mrs. Baerens 
how they had met the young ladies on the 
day before, though of their search and disap- 
pointment he discreetly made but little men- 
tion. 

“After Ave had bought the pictures we got 
into the first cab that passed us and were 
driven to the station,” said Carola. 

“In Lambrecht Ave met her,” said Mrs. 
Baerens. “According to your father’s letter 
we expected a message from you every hour 
and had made all sorts of plans for your en- 
tertainment. So Carola had to be at home. 
Now you have arrived without our help, you 
and your good friend.” 

“No matter what our plans were,” said 
Baerens, “we could not possibly be merrier 
than we have been this evening. There is but 
one thing that bothers me and that is Otto’s 

68 


THE LADY OF THE FOREST 


formal attitude toward us. You see here in 
the woods we are not wont to stand on cere- 
mony as much as they do in your Prussian cap- 
ital. Now you just call me ‘uncle’ and Mrs. 
Baerens ‘aunt’ and then we will get along 
better. We can’t afford to be formal on the 
few occasions when some kind spirit looks us 
up in this isolation.” 

So the little company chatted and recounted 
bits of life history, interesting to those who are 
dear to one another. Long after all the lights 
in the village were out, the bright windows of 
the Baerens’ house were still sending their 
beams into the valley and against the hills. 




69 


CHAPTER IV 


CHARLES EERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 

When the two young men appeared in the 
family sitting-room the next morning, Baerens 
wais waiting to take them for a walk. 

“Don’t stay out until noon,” said Mrs. 
Baerens. “We’ve been looking forward with 
such pleasure to having a few more hours with 
Mr. Eernau. You ought not to leave us so 
soon. You might grant us at least one more 
evening.” 

“You are too kind,” he answered hesita- 
tingly. “But I have work that can not be put 
off—” 

“Especially a greeting to the lovely Kamp- 
aspe,” Otto interrupted quickly. “You must 
know that is the name we gave your friend, 
Carola. You probably do not know who 
Kampaspe was?” he added in a superior man- 
ner. 

“To he sure I do. But you interrupted 

70 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


your friend, Otto,” she said looking at him re- 
proachfully. 

This reproach annoyed him the more as he 
felt how indelicate his remark had been. 
“Oh,” he replied, his voice showing his irrita- 
tion, “we are not so exacting with each other. 
But how do you come to know about Kamp- 
aspe?” 

“She is mentioned in the prologue of ‘Phil- 
othea,’ isn’t she?” and with that she turned 
away from him and busied herself about the 
breakfast table. 

“Well, children,” asked Baerens, “are we 
ready to start?” 

At the doorway Charles paused and looked 
back at Carola, who nodded to him pleasantly. 
Otto had gone on ahead with her father. 
The young girl carried away the breakfast 
things, while her mother sat down at the little 
sewing table. She did not take up any work, 
but looked out of the window abstractedly. 

“Look,” she said suddenly to her daughter. 
“Father is going up the hill, between the 
two young men, as proudly as if he had two 
sons.” 

“He is pleased to be able to show off his 
beautiful trees. They are such pleasant 

71 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


young men that their company has livened him 
up. I don’t remember ever seeing him as jolly 
as he was last evening.” 

“He was in very good humor and he talked 
to me a long time after the rest of you had 
gone to bed. He is delighted with Otto. It 
is really to Otto’s advantage that father 
thought he would not be so agreeable or sensi- 
ble as he is. He really seems like a very pleas- 
ant and capable young man.” 

“His friend is a very nice young man too.” 
“But not at all good-looking, especially 
compared to Otto. He seems stitf and awk- 
ward beside Otto. There they are up at the 
top of the hill. Now they are gone. Let us 
sit here a little while. It is still too early to 
need to think of anything in the kitchen. 
What was the matter with you and Otto a 
little while ago?” she asked after a few mo- 
ments, as Carola remained silent. “It seemed 
to me you cut him oflP rather sharply.” 

“Sharply? Not that I know of. Perhaps 
it was not nice of me to reprove him for in- 
terrupting and teasing his friend. But I 
could see that it confused Mr. Fernau and that 
made me feel sorry for him.” 

“You are too sensitive, too considerate, my 

72 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


dear child, and so conclude that everybody else 
is the same way. College boys among them- 
selves — ” 

“College boys?” 

“Well, yes, they were college boys together 
and surely are used to each other. Otto may 
hardly have noticed your insistence, but I 
would hke to have you be as amiable as possi- 
ble, Carola. The young man is going to be 
with us for several weeks and we must try 
to make it as pleasant for him as we can. 
He seems to me like a young man who has 
been accustomed all his life to speak freely 
and frankly upon any subject in his mind. 
Such people are apt, occasionally, to say some- 
thing that might better be suppressed, yet I 
prefer them to those who are too reserved and 
secretive. Father remarked even yesterday 
evening that you were not as pleasant to Otto 
as you usually are to people. Did some of his 
remarks displease you?” 

Carola flushed a little. “There seemed to 
be something so slighting in the way he spoke 
of the poor children they met on the way. I 
did not like that, though generally he seemed 
very pleasant and perhaps he did not mean it 
very seriously. I am sure he has a good 

73 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


heart,” and she looked at her mother as if 
seeking confirmation of her belief. 

“How could you doubt it, child?” replied her 
mother encouragingly. “Didn’t you notice 
how lovingly he spoke of his parents, how 
pleasant he was to us, and how eager he was 
to praise his friend and his work last evening? 
His character doesn’t seem to be stable and 
developed as yet, but he is still young and we 
all need the friction of time and contact with 
the world to rub off our angles and peculiari- 
ties — ^time and suffering,” she added in an 
undertone. 

“Yesterday evening I heard a similar re- 
mark, mother dear,” said Carola. “When Ave 
were speaking of Mr. Fernau’s beautiful 
statue, Otto said of him that, judging from 
his work, he must have followed the teachings 
of his old Professor very well. The Professor 
used to tell his pupils that no matter how much 
they studied and practised, they would never 
be masters if they did not seek to realize the 
ideals which they carried in their hearts in 
their own lives. They must build, and shape 
and model within, as well as without, he would 
say, and then the ideals will come out in the 
stones, too. That pleased me so much. I 

74 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


thought of it afterward for a long time. I 
shall be more careful hereafter, if Mr. Ru- 
dolphi makes some hasty remark. But I must 
go into the kitchen now, for I mean to bake 
a cake and have it ready in time, so that Mr. 
Fernau can have a taste of it before he leaves.” 
“Mr. Fernau seems to be in favor with you,” 
said her mother with apparent indifference, 
yet looking at her daughter quickly. 

“Oh, yes,” said Carola. “I like his manner 
very much. Don’t you think he has a very 
kind and honest face? One could not help 
having confidence in him.” 

“He really seems to be a very worthy young 
man, that is true,” said her mother. She 
seemed about to say something more, but 
stopped and looked after the girl thoughtfully. 

'i' 'l' ^ 

vfr v|v vfv vjv 

Out under the great trees of the forest, 
Fernau and Rudolph! were walking up and 
down, talking animatedly to each other. 
Baerens had left them alone for a half hour, 
while he attended to some of his duties. 

“No,” said Otto imperiously, “you can not 
go. You must stay for my sake, if not for 
your own. And I must say that the cordial 
and pleasant manner in which we have been 

75 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


received here, warrants, at least, a very small 
sacrifice. Control your longing to see the 
lovely Kampaspe and your work for one day 
and stay here. I haven’t had the least chance 
to say a word to you about Carola. She’s not 
a dazzling beauty, like your Miss Kampe, to 
be sure, but she is extraordinarily attractive.” 
“Extraordinarily,” replied Charles absently. 
“I can see very well,” said Otto in an injured 
tone, “that your thoughts are back in Mann- 
heim. I hope you’ll write me soon and tell me 
how your first call passed off,” he added a 
little more pleasantly. “For my part. I’ll find 
out through Carola what sort of an impression 
you made. The two girls write each other 
voluminous letters about anything and every- 
thing. My little fiancee seems to have a few 
caprices of her own, for that matter, but I 
think I’ll be able to manage them. Yes, 
Charles,” he said, noting his friend’s surprise, 
“I am not joking. I’ve fully made up my 
mind. Her face fills my whole soul. One 
really does not understand one’s own heart. 
I never would have believed that I could yield 
so completely to an emotion in so short a time.” 
Otto drew a deep breath. It had become a 
necessity to him to speak to his friend of that 

76 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


which filled his Avhole being. And yet the con- 
f ession was hard, almost humiliating. W as he 
ashamed to have abandoned his proud theories 
so easily? Or had he a vague feeling that 
Carola was more than an unformed, affection- 
ate child, and that some note would have to be 
taken of her individuality in considering the 
possibilities of their future? 

“That is easy to understand in the presence 
of such a girl,” said Fernau softly, with a 
curious vibration in his voice. 

Otto looked at his friend searchingly for a 
moment. Then he said, “I see you too have 
recognized her worth and charm, though I im- 
agined your thoughts were far from her and 
from me.” 

“Sst! Do not talk so loud,” said Charles, 
“her father may come back at any moment.” 

“He has only been gone ten minutes. ]M ore- 
over, I flatter myself that he is entirely on my 
side.” 

And her mother, too,” added Charles. 

Do you think so? Well that would be the 
main thing.” 

“The main thing? The main thing I should 
think would be the young lady herself. Or do 
you feel quite sure of her affection?” 

77 


u 


Ci' 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


“Oh, I think, I believe — or do you think I 
can not succeed in winning Carola?” The 
words sounded almost harsh now. 

“Halloo, halloo, ho, where are you? Have 
you left your post, children ?” 

“Baerens,” said Charles, and a moment later 
the stocky form of the forester came plunging 
through the underbrush. 

“If we just go along here a little way, we 
shall come to a clearing from which we can see 
the old ruin you were drawing yesterday,” 
Baerens said as they started out to walk again. 

“It would he easy to find the road to Lam- 
brecht from here, wouldn’t it?” asked Fernau 
in a somewhat embarrassed tone. 

“What are you thinking of, Charles?” ex- 
claimed Otto impatiently. “You surely can 
not be thinking seriously of leaving us now. 
You will at least go back and say good-by to 
the ladies?” 

Baerens looked at the two young men 
silently. Otto’s evident excitement and Fer- 
nau’s equally evident embarrassment, aston- 
ished him. 

“Such apparent discourtesy,” said Charles 
turning to Baerens apologetically, “could be 
excused only by the most urgent reasons, and it 

78 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


is really very urgent that I should return to 
Mannheim at once. It may seem strange to 
you that I rememher this urgency just now, 
but really when a lonely fellow, as I am, meets 
with such cordial kindness as you and your 
family have shown me, he is apt to forget 
everything else for the time being. And for 
that reason you must forgive me, if I insist on 
tearing myself away.” 

There was something so frank and persua- 
sive in the young man’s expression that 
Baerens who, at first was almost indignant at 
the thought of this sudden departure, was mol- 
lified and disposed even to make the appar- 
ently painful situation easier for the young 
man. 

“If that is so, my young friend,” he said cor- 
dially, “it would be unfair to try to constrain 
you to remain here, much as we would like to 
have you stay. But you must finish your 
drawing. Isn’t that why you took your 
sketch-book with you?” 

“You are too kind. I did not think of it. 
But it must be put off now until — ” 

“Until you come hack,” completed Baerens 
kindly. “Nevertheless, it is nonsense for you 
to leave now. If you go back with us and 

79 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


have dinner, we can have the cart take you to 
the station afterward, and you can catch the 
very same train into Mannheim that you will 
if you start off from here on foot.” 

“It is better so,” replied Fernau, who had 
regained his self-possession. “I should not 
like to disturb the customary arrangements of 
your day. IMoreover, now that I have become 
filled with the thought of the need of my 
speedy return, I would he but a poor and mon- 
osjdlabic companion. Give my kindest re- 
gards to the ladies and my thanks for their 
courtesies.” 

“They will not he pleased in the least with 
such a message. What do you think, Otto?” 
said Baerens turning to Otto, who was stand- 
ing beside them listening in moody silence. 

“To be sure they will not, nor am I pleased,” 
he added. 

“If 3mu realty insist on going, Mr. Fernau,” 
went on Baerens, “Otto might go a little way 
with you, while I look around here a while. 
We can meet over there in the arbor later on,” 
and with that he held out his hand to Charles. 

Otto and Charles walked silentlv toward the 
road, along which they had come so gaily the 
day before. Somehow it seemed hard to find 

80 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


the easy touch again. At last Otto said : 
“Did you notice what a beautiful hand Carola 
has? I never saw a hand that seemed to me 
even to approach hers. Did you see it?” 

“Oh, an artist never lets anything like that 
escape his eye. That is part of our business,” 
said Fernau. “And how beautifully she 
sings. There is something tender and touch- 
ing in her voice, even as there is in her face.” 
“Do you think so?” said Otto, pleased. “I 
believe my mother will like Carola very much. 
Socially, too, she will not need to take a back 
place. With all her simplicity and natural- 
ness, her manner is always pleasing and proper. 
She would be a credit to any gathering.” 

Otto had regained all his natural gaiety, and 
when he bade his friend farewell, his thoughts 
were so taken up with his “future bride” that 
he forgot even to tease Charles about the 

“lovely Kampaspe.” 

* * * * 

Charles Fernau wandered on. Not a hu- 
man being passed him. Once in a while a doe 
with its soft, bright eyes looked out at him 
from the forest thicket. But he did not notice 
it. Ijost in thought he kept his eyes fixed on 
the path winding along before him, and did 

81 


FERNAU RETURNS TO MANNHEIM 


not stop until the rushing of a millrace came 
to his ears. Then he sat down on the moss- 
covered root of a great tree and wiped his 
damp forehead. 

After a little he raised his head and looked 
around. INIechanically he put out his hand 
and picked up a dry twig and began drawing 
in the loose earth. Was he not writing a 
name? With a look almost of fear he stared 
at the letters — for a few seconds. Then he 
sprang to his feet and rubbed the point of his 
boot over the telltale marks until the dust 
whirled up in an effacing cloud. Then he 
went on. When he reached the station he sat 
down in a far corner of the waiting room, and 
waited for the train. 


82 


CHAPTER V 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 

Charles Fernau was left an orphan early 
in life. He was taken by some distant rela- 
tives, who, although the interest on the money 
left the little boy by his parents was amply 
suffieient to meet all expenses, yet looked upon 
him as a disturbing element in their quiet lives, 
and made him feel that they kept him only as 
a matter of duty. Charles never entertained 
any bitterness toward the elderly people, a 
brother and sister, who had given him the only 
home he remembered. His lively sense of the 
sacrifice of their own inclinations, which it had 
cost them to keep him, made him not only 
modest, hut also considerate toward all the 
habits and peculiarities of the old. The very 
severity with which they denied him so many 
things which he saw others enjoying, was des- 
tined to prove beneficial in the end. It ren- 
dered him proof against the temptations that 
beset his young manhood when he left them to 

83 


I 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


enter college — where the simplicity and natur- 
alness of his whole manner endeared him both 
to the faculty and the students. Nevertheless, 
he had no intimate fi’iend, perhaps because his 
own intellectual and moral development was 
far in advance of most young men of his age. 
Before he had finished his college course, both 
his foster-parents died in quick succession. 
Dying, they assured him that he had never 
caused them worry or pain. It was a great 
satisfaction to him then that he had never 
worried them with his desire to become a sculp- 
tor. He had felt instinctively how their very 
conventional ideas would have rebelled at the 
thought of such a profession. Now that the 
narrowing prejudices of human life had fallen 
from their eyes, he felt sure that they looked 
down at him from heaven, and gave their ap- 
proval to his work. 

After Fernau took his degree, he left Mann- 
heim and went to Berlin. There had been 
little to attract him in Mannheim, and yet, 
during his first months in the great city, he was 
often oppressed by the sense of loneliness and 
isolation that come upon any one accustomed 
to smaller places. In such homesick mood, he 
wandered out to Charlottenburg one rainy 

84 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


day. There was no one in the park, and that, 
in itself, was a satisfaction. Neither did he 
expect that any one would be in the chapel on 
such a day. It almost annoyed him, theref ore, 
when he entered the Mausoleum, to find a 
young man talking to the guard. But this 
feeling gave way to delight very quickly when 
the stranger chanced to turn and address Fer- 
nau. It was the experience which comes to 
most people who are full of feeling and senti- 
ment themselves, yet timid and restrained in 
expression. If a sympathetic touch brings 
them out of their accustomed shyness it drops 
away, and their repressed emotions and ideas 
are poured forth irresistibly. In a moment 
F ernau and the stranger were in animated con- 
versation. The stranger seemed delighted to 
find that Fernau was attending the academy. 
He himself, to be sure, was pursuing scientific 
studies, but, as a matter of inclination, he at- 
tended Professor Fischer’s lectures; for the 
Professor was a friend of his father’s. And, 
as he visited in the Professor’s studio occa- 
sionally, he expressed the hope that Fernau 
and he might meet again there. 

On the way back to the city, it seemed to 
Fernau that he talked more than he ever had 

85 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 

in his life, and before they reached the Brand- 
enburger Thor, he had told his new friend all 
about his personal life. Among other things, 
he had confessed that he was very lonesome 
and homesick occasionally, in this beautiful 
Berlin. The other young man knew nothing 
of this feeling by personal experience. His 
home had alwa}^s been in the city. He had 
only left it for vacations, and his own desire 
was to get through with his studies, so that he 
might have a chance to see other parts of the 
world, and other people with other ways. 
When they parted, it was with a hearty hand- 
clasp and the promise to see each other again 
soon. 

r ernau walked along the street smiling with 
delight. “Otto Rudolphi,” he murmured, as 
he looked at the visiting card he held in his 
hand. “Otto Rudolphi, I hope that I may win 
your friendship.” The rest of the day he 
spent in his room thinking of his new acquaint- 
ance. 

In the meantime, Otto Rudolphi was telling 
his parents of the pleasant young man he had 
met at Charlottenburg. His mother wanted 
to know all about their conversation, and about 

86 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


the young man’s appearance and manner; his 
father, however, remained silent, only ventur- 
ing an occasional remark. A few days later, 
however, he came to Otto looking very much 
pleased. “I have been asking Fischer about 
your new friend. He must be a very fine 
fellow. I should like to have you call on him, 
and ask him to visit us next Sunday after- 
noon.” It did not take Charles Fernau long 
to feel himself very much at home in the hand- 
some house on the Park. When he left his 
most respectable and yet extremely modest 
lodgings in the Klosterstrasse, and came up to 
Rudolphi’s, he seemed transported into a dif- 
ferent world, even as he stood in the vestibule 
and waited. Up in Mrs. Rudolphi’s own 
room his heart always seemed to thaw. She 
was a slender, graceful woman, with delicate 
features, and beautiful blond hair, which she 
wore in heavy braids, regardless of the prevail- 
ing fashion. There was a look of indescriba- 
ble kindliness and gaiety about her mouth and 
in her dark-blue eyes. When Fernau was 
permitted to sit at the little table that stood 
in front of her fiower-covered window, and 
listen to her pleasant voice, and gradually let 

87 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


her lead him on, gently, to talk of himself, and 
his plans, and ambitions, he was happy beyond 
expression. 

He had learned a great deal from her. She 
was the first woman with whom he had become 
intimately acquainted, and her whole character 
and manner were of the kind calculated to give 
him a high opinion of her sex and its influ- 
ences. Otto, too, inspired him with a great 
admiration. Otto’s assurance and ease im- 
pressed him very much, and it followed, alto- 
gether naturally, that wherever the two young 
men went, it fell upon Otto to take the initia- 
tive. Charles rarely met Otto’s father; but 
whenever he did, the quiet, serious man treated 
him with paternal kindness. 

How great the blank in Fernau’s life was 
when his return to IMannheim severed his con- 
nection with this charming family, may be im- 
agined. In the time that had passed since, 
Charles had been to Italy and spent a year in 
Rome, and then returned to Mannheim, to 
stay. Otto Rudolphi had remained in Berlin. 
He had passed his examinations with distinc- 
tion, and hsid been a Professor at the Univer- 
sity for several years. Thus it was that the 

88 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


young men did not meet again until both had 
entered practical life. 

Strange it is, however, that even the dearest 
friends never find each other just the same 
after a long separation. So, too, it had been 
with Fernau and Rudolphi, and of these things 
the young sculptor thought as he sat in the 
quiet little station in the forest and waited for 
the train. 

He marveled that his friend no longer 
seemed to impress him as he did. It seemed to 
him almost as if they had changed roles, and 
as if he had to guide and direct his friend now, 
and call his attention to the stone in the wav. 
Even yesterday, Charles had looked upon 
Otto’s assurance as manly independence; to- 
day it seemed to him like vanity and imperti- 
nence. The tone in which Otto spoke to 
Carola pained him — indeed, made him indig- 
nant. How lightly he looked upon every- 
thing! How sure he felt that he could win 
this girl — this girl to whom Charles looked up 
as the ideal of lovely and lovable womanhood ! 
To be sure, Otto bad been received as one of 
the family at once on account of the friendship 
of the fathers, but it seemed to Charles as if 

89 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


he had presumed upon this privilege. He re- 
sented the familiarity with which Otto at once 
called the young lady by her first name. 

In his present mood, he felt positively re- 
lieved to be away from a scene where every- 
thing seemed to hurt and offend him. He 
got up and began walking nervously around 
the room. 

“Was it but yesterday that we stood here, 
chatting gaily, the best of friends,” he mur- 
mured, pausing at the window and looking out 
at the mountains. “Is it possible that in a day 
I have become so disloyal to the one friend 
who has been everything to me ? Is it right to 
blame him f or accepting what was off ered him 
in such good feeling?” 

But however he tried to banish from his 
mind the bitterness toward his friend, the mem- 
ory of how Carola had taken his part against 
Otto in the morning came back insistently, and 
made him feel how unfair was the position into 
which he had been put. 

“Yes, I shall take a message to the beautiful 
Kampaspe, although neither she nor any other 
beautiful blond in this world can have any 
fascination for me since I have looked into 
these other eyes!” 


90 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


As he murmured the last words, he chanced 
to glance at the window-pane, slightly dimmed 
now by his breath. There he read the very 
name, “Kampaspe,” which he had traced the 
day before, with his mind filled with vague, 
yet lovely dreams — dreams of which he did 
not even want to be reminded to-day. 

The shrill whistle of the engine woke him 
from his dreams. As he turned to go to the 
platform, the waitress stopped him and pointed 
to the lemonade he had ordered standing un- 
touched on the table. He drank it hastily and 
gave her a piece of silver, telling her to keep 
the change. 

She watched him get on the train, and then 
hastened to the window at which he had stood 
so long. With some difficulty she spelled out 
the name on the pane. 

“That name is not in the calendar of the 
saints,” she said, shaking her head, “but I will 
write it down anyway,” taking a little notebook 
out of her pocket. “It’s probably some actress 
or some high-born lady with whom the young 
man is hopelessly in love,” she concluded gaily. 

When Charles returned to his lodgings in 
the evening, his landlady met him in the hall. 

“Is it really you, Mr. Fernau?” she said. 

91 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


“It seemed to me I heard your step. Will 
you come down for a little while later in the 
evening?” 

“You are too kind, but this evening, much 
as it would please me, I can not — ” 

A look of disappointment came to the lady’s 
face. Then she said, pleasantly, “Come when 
you can, then; we are always glad to see you.” 
If Charles had been in his usual amiable 
temper, he would not have failed to notice the 
suppressed excitement in the manner of his 
landlady, nor the open letter which she held in 
her hand. But all these things were nothing 
to him to-day, and when he got to his room 
he locked the door as if he would like to shut 
out the whole world. When the old servant 
brought her mistress’ tea, she said that she. 
thought Mr. Fernau must he ill, as he had not 
even gone out to get his supper; but her mis- 
tress did not answer. She was too busy with 
her own thoughts. Charles, for his part, got 
down his Imitation of Christ, and before he 
put out his light, marked the verse in the thir- 
teenth chapter of the First Book: 

“Still we must watch, especially in the be- 
ginning of temptation; for then the enemy is 

92 


THE BEGINNING OF TEMPTATION 


more easily overcome, if he be not sulfered 
to enter the door of the mind, but is withstood 
upon the threshold the very moment that he 
knocketh. 

“.Whence a certain one hath said: 

‘Resist beginnings; all too late the cure^ 

When ills have gathered strength by long delay/ 


CHAPTER VI 


AN INVITATION 

Otto Rudolphi went to bed on that same 
evening with very difF erent thoughts. He had 
written a long letter to his mother, in which 
his happy mood was vividly reflected, and went 
to sleep picturing to himself how well Carola 
would fill the position of a professor’s wife, 
and how everybody would envy him so charm- 
ing a helpmate. 

“If everything were not settled upon so 
definitely,” he murmured to himself, “and if 
I were not sure that such an opportunity might 
never come to me again, who knows but what 
I would let the expedition to the north go?” 

Carola, for her part, wrote to her friend. 
Miss Kampe, in Mannheim: 

“Is it not remarkable that our visitor and 
his friend are the two young men whom we 
noticed as we were leaving the art store ? And 

that Mr. Eernau is the artist whom vou have 

«/ 

wished so much to know? I could not help 

94 


AN INVITATION 


writing you, even though it is late. He will 
call on you within the next few days. 

“I am proud to think that we hermits in the 
wilderness are sending you such a distinguished 
visitor. To me, he seems to be the best, the 
most religious, and most gifted man I have 
ever seen. I am sure, after you have talked 
to him a few minutes, you will forget all about 
the length of his nose — you remember you in- 
sisted it was too long. 

“Be sure to write me all about him. He 
will find out at once, I know, how much more 
clever you are than I am, and therefore, he 
will talk to you much more freely than he did 
to me. 

“I will write you more about Mr. Rudolphi 
later. You saw him, too, of course, although 
just in passing.” 

Some three weeks had passed since Otto first 
came to Rauheneck, and it was the first rainy 
day that had come in that time. Carola and 
her mother were busy at their work-table. 
Mrs. Baerens was mending, and Carola’s slen- 
der fingers flew back and forth, busy with her 
tatting. 

“Do you know what you promised to do on 

95 


AN INVITATION 


the first rainy day?” asked Carola, turning to 
Otto. 

“What was it?” asked Mrs. Baerens, when 
Otto did not answer at once. 

“To read this little English story aloud,” 
said Otto, taking a slender volume out of his 
breast-pocket. “You see,” he said, looking at 
Carola, “I was but waiting until it would be 
entirely agreeable to you to do so.” 

“Ottilie told me,” said Carola, in explana- 
tion, to her mother, “that this little story 
pleased her very much, so she lent it to me; 
but I saw very soon that I did not know 
enough of English to read it easily.” 

“Speaking of Ottilie,” said Mrs. Baerens, 
“did you not get a letter from her this after- 
noon?” 

“Didn’t I tell you about it? I thought I 
did.” 

Just then the servant apjieared at the door 
and called Mrs. Baerens out. 

“What did Miss Kampe write?” asked Otto 
after Mrs. Baerens had gone. “Has Charles 
called?” 

“To be sure.” 

“And what does she think of him? Did 
she seem to like him?” 


96 


AN INVITATION 


“What would you expect her to say after 
a single meeting?” asked Carola. “I suppose 
that Mr. Fernau made a short, formal call, 
as you people do in the city. Out here in the 
country, of course, it is different — ” 

“I am not going to let you off like that, 
Carola. Tell me, please, what did Miss 
Kampe say about Charles? I should partic- 
ularly like to know.” 

“Why? Do you really want to know very 
much, Mr. Rudolph! ?” 

“To be sure I do. He admired her, and I 
should like to know — ” 

“But he hardly saw her,” said Carola, 
quickly. “I do not understand how you could 
tease him about her; it seemed to embarrass 
him so.” 

“That is only another proof that I was 
right. Won’t you tell me what she thinks of 
him?” 

“How can you imagine that Ottilie would 
write me a lot of stuff about a stranger! She 
is much too reserved to do anything like that.” 
“Well, then, there is no reason why you can 
not tell me what she did say.” 

Just then Mrs. Baerens came back, and Otto 
quickly opened the book. 

97 


AN INVITATION 


“She needs to practise more, doesn’t she?” 
said Mrs. Baerens, who thought Carola’s em- 
barrassment was the result of a futile attempt 
to read English. 

“She certainly does,” said Otto, “and I think 
we will have to begin to read English together 
every day, for Carola has such a nice accent 
that it would be too bad not to practise; and 
how nice it would be for her to be able to read 
all her father’s English books. Moreover, 
everything loses by translation.” 

“You seem to like the English language 
very much,” said Mrs. Baerens. 

“It is a beautiful language, full of terse and 
epigrammatic expressions,” said Otto. “This 
very story, ‘Forgive and Forget,’ for in- 
stance, is an example.” 

Otto began to read. His voice sounded low 
and monotonous, and in keeping with the bare 
and desolate room in which the tale opened. 
The ladies listened to him somewhat disap- 
pointed, but in a little while they forgot all 
about his manner, it all became so real. They 
heard the echo of the footsteps of the work- 
men as they left the great building in which 
the quiet old man sat. They heard the key 
turn in the heavy door, and saw the pale book- 

98 


AN INVITATION 


keeper come in, bringing the balance sheets for 
the day. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said to his hard- 
hearted employer, as he turned to go; but the 
good wish reached only the ear, not the heart, 
of the old man. Even the bells that sounded 
from the steeples now brought no thought of 
heaven to the rich man’s soul, did not turn it 
awav from the dross of earth. 

Then, suddenly, the floor beneath the old 
man seemed to shake, and slowly, out of the 
vapor and smoke that rose and enveloped him, 
a figure seemed to form itself and take the 
features which he knew. 

It was the spirit of his dead partner. The 
partner with whom he had worked without 
cease and without rest, allowing himself no 
desire and no pleasure, save the greed of 
money. 

His partner held up his hands before him, 
and showed them, bound with heavy chains, 
dragging him down to the depths below. The 
chains were the treasures of earth, which he 
had once loved so much; and he entreated his 
living partner to employ the time that was still 
left him better than he had done. 

Then the figure sank back into the not hin tv 

99 


AN INVITATION 


from which it had come. Another vision rose 
before the old miser’s eyes. 

He saw, all about him, everywhere, the world 
over, the beautiful, blessed feast of Christmas 
being celebrated, and many a picture of touch- 
ing sentiment and self-sacrificing humanity. 

At last the old man woke from his long, long 
dreams. He roused himself and listened. 
There was busy life in the street. He stag- 
gered to the window, and tore it open. A poor 
newsboy looked up at him, and called out, 
“Merry Christmas.” 

The wish reached more than the old man’s 
ears this time. It touched his heart. He put 
on his great coat and hastened out, first to the 
houses of his clerks and his workingmen — ^and 
everywhere he went Christmas joy followed 
him. And he, for his part, felt as if he car- 
ried away more joy than he left behind. At 
last he had learned the true meaning of life. 

It was a veiy simple story, but full of vivid 
and profound pictures of life, and Otto had 
read it so sympathetically that Mrs. Baerens 
thanked him, full of emotion. Carola did not 
say a word, but when Otto looked at her he 
saw great tears rolling down her cheeks. A 
tender exelamation rose to his lips, but just 

100 , 


< 

( c 


AN INVITATION 


then steps were heard and the mother rose 
from her seat, and said: “Is it possible that 

father is coming? Wipe away your tears, 
child. You know he does not like to see such 
undue emotion.” Carola smiled at Otto with 
moist eyes, and gave him her hand in grati- 
tude. He was about to raise it delightedly to 
his lips, hut she drew it away, and blushing, 
hastened out to the kitchen. 

“What is your hurry, daughter?” her father 
called after her. “Is there something wrong 
with the girl?” he asked, looking in astonish- 
ment from his wife to Otto. “You all look 
so queer. Is it the rainy weather, or is there 
something else amiss? I can not imagine that 
you have been quarreling with each other.” 

“I must own up,” said Mrs. Baerens, “Otto 
was reading such a beautiful story that we did 
not notice the time passing, until we heard your 
footsteps.” 

“That is the way it goes,” he said, pretend- 
ing to he vexed. “I think of you waiting for 
me anxiously, and instead you all seem fright- 
ened to death when I come. I really believe 
you were crying, girl,” he said to Carola, who 
returned with the tea-tray. “Was the story 
really so touching?” 


101 


AN INVITATION 


“Otto read it so well, or I probably would 
not have cried.” 

“Is that so?” he asked, turning to Otto. 
“Why, that is really a compliment, Otto. I 
would like to knoAV what the story was about.” 
“Oh, about an old miser who found his hap- 
piness and peace of mind by giving away some 
of his money on Christmas Eve. Was not 
that a beautiful idea, father?” 

“To be sure — very beautiful, child. I see 
Otto is sensible in his choice of reading. That 
is very necessary in dealing with Carola, or 
she will cry her eyes out over things that have 
never happened. Now, sit down and listen to 
me, child. I have some news that will make 
you smile instead of weep. Where do you 
think we are invited to go to-morrow?” 

“To Rose Villa?” said Mrs. Baerens. 

“To St. Hubert’s Lodge?” Carola wanted 
to call out, but the words would not come. So 
she looked at her father in silent expectation. 

“Rose Villa, indeed!” said her father. “I 
bet that Carola can make a better guess.” 

“St. Hubert’s Lodge,” said Carola then. 
“Indeed, is it really St. Hubert’s Lodge?” 
“Yes,” said her father. “Otto will find it a 
very interesting place to visit, I am sure.” 

102 


AN INVITATION 


“I do not think it could be nicer anywhere 
than it is here,” said Otto to Mrs. Baerens, in 
an undertone, and looking at her meaningly. 
“I would like to keep all strange people away 
from here, so that I could enjoy my visit with 
you undisturbed.” 

She could not answer at once. The manner 
in which the young man spoke betrayed too 
mueh. She saw Carola bend over her cup, and 
wondered whether the girl had heard the whis- 
per. 

The father did not seem to have noticed the 
little interlude. He looked at the barometer. 
“It has risen, and for that matter, if it rains 
we will drive. I told the messenger positively 
that we shall come and bring Otto with us.” 

“Oh, if. it would only clear up. The path 
through the forest is so beautiful,” Carola 
said, “and Otto has not been that way yet. 
The outlook would please him, too.” 

Mr. Baerens got up. “I have a few more 
things to attend to. In the meantime, you 
can let my wife tell you about St. Hubert’s 
Lodge and its people, as a preparation for the 
morrow.” 

“I can understand Carola’s liking for the 
seat at this window when she is workinar or 

103 


AN INVITATION 


reading,” Otto said a few minutes later to 
Mrs. Baerens, as he looked out of the window 
into the darkening forest depths and watehed 
the heavy raindrops falling from the branches 
onto the mossy ground, although the sky was 
clearing overhead even then. 

“There is nothing here,” she said, “that dis- 
turbs the mind, nor yet is the scene depress- 
mg. 

He looked dreamily out into the trees, but a 
happy smile played about his lips. Mrs. 
Baerens watched him silently for a while, and 
felt that she could guess his thoughts. 

“It is too bad your friend, Mr. Fernau, can 
not be with us to-morrow. I am sure he would 
enjoy it very much. Now that the Vilnaus 
are back again, he may go with us some time 
later. Has he written to you lately?” 

“I must confess that I still owe him an an- 
swer, but I shall delay no longer now. He 
will be delighted to have some news ; but, Mrs. 
Baerens, you were going to tell me about St. 
Hubert’s Lodge.” 

“I will do so right away, before Carola 
comes hack. She has such great admiration 
for the people of St. Hubert’s Lodge, that 
it would he almost impossible to speak in her 

104 


AN INVITATION 


presence in terms that seem favorable enough. 
To be sure, youth always sees its ideals in those 
whom it loves, and all its visions have a rosy 
background.” 

“Is that so?” asked Otto, dubiously. “It 
seems to me, sometimes, that Carola has a very 
keen eye.” 

“That may be,” said Mrs. Baerens, “and yet, 
you know it may be but a childish instinct for 
what is right and true. Carola is yet very 
much of a child. I know that, Otto ; but here, 
in this wilderness, it has been hard for us to 
teach her — ” 

“I do not understand you at all,” said Otto, 
so hruskly that Mrs. Baerens was startled. “I 
do not know what there is lacking in her train- 
ing and education. You ought to have heard 
how Fernau praised her.” 

Mrs. Baerens looked down thoughtfully. 
Then she said, after a moment, “I was going to 
tell you about the Vilnau family, wasn’t I, 
Otto? Herr von Vilnau, the owner of the es- 
tate that you are to see to-morrow, is a man 
of about sixty years of age, large and strong, 
with military bearing. He was a soldier in 
his youth, and retired early on account of a 
ffunshot wound. Then he entered the Gov- 

105 


AN INVITATION 


eminent employ, and married. He is from 
Wurtemburg, and used to live in Stuttgart. 
They had a very pleasant circle of acquaint- 
ances, and were highly respected. But no 
earthly happiness is perfect. In a little while 
they lost their four boys, and only one child 
was left them, a rather delicate girl, who had 
been a care to them since her birth. Then 
Herr von Vilnau resigned his position, and 
went traveling with his family. He finally 
returned to his native country, however, and 
bought St. Hubert’s Lodge. He has im- 
proved the estate very much, it having been 
rather neglected, for it was generally unin- 
habited. 

“Now, that you know his story, you will 
understand him better, and excuse him if he 
occasionally seems rather harsh. Perhaps you 
will not notice it in him. When he is not pos- 
sessed by one of his gloomy spells he is the 
most agreeable and most amiable companion 
you can imagine. 

“Those are the main outlines. You may 
study the details for yourself. Madam von 
Vilnau is a little deaf, but there is not a trace 
of the suspiciousness and the crankiness which 
so often characterize deaf people. She thinks 

106 


AN INVITATION 


that everything her husband thinks is gospel 
truth. You might talk to her all day about 
something, and when you got through she 
would tell you, ‘But my husband says it was 
so, or so, and he must know.’ ” 

Otto laughed. 

“And then there is Pauline,” said Mrs. 
Baerens. “You will like her very much. Al- 
though not exactly handsome, she is very at- 
tractive, and has a pleasant manner. Her 
delicate health and her parents’ grief brought 
home to her the serious side of life very early, 
and have made of her a kind, considerate 
woman, who is a great consolation to her 
parents. She is really an excellent girl — gay 
and pleasant, now that her health has improved 
so much. I am very glad to have Carola go 
with her. When she was a child, my daughter 
was in St. Hubert’s Lodge very often — ^more 
than I liked. The Vilnaus always begged to 
have her come, and told us what a consolation 
the romping little girl was to them — ” 

Just then Carola entered. 

“Have you told Professor Rudolph! how 
beautifully Pauline paints?” she asked, turn- 
ing to her mother. “I am sure Mr. Fernau 
would like to meet her.” 

lOT 


AN INVITATION 


“I was just about to speak of it.” 

Otto looked at Carola and could not see 
wherein her visits to St. Hubert’s Lodge had 
been detrimental to her. 


108 


CHAPTER VII 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 

It was late before the house was quiet, but 
late as it was Otto sat down to write a letter 
to Charles. His conscience reproached him 
for his neglect as he read Charles’ letter once 
more. It was full of kindness and good 
wishes, and yet an indescribable feeling of 
wistfulness seemed to fill in between the lines. 
Otto came to the conclusion that Charles missed 
him very much and wrote the more lengthity, 
telling him how every one missed him and con- 
stantly asked about him. 

“Carola,” he wrote, “has received a letter 
from your Kampaspe. The little witch did 
not want to tell me what was in it, hut I 
guessed enough to know that there was noth- 
ing but what is nice. However, I do not think 
that the dear child will have any secrets from 
me in a short time, and then I’ll tell you all 
about it. In the meantime I wish you would 
look up a reliable jeweler for me. I am com- 

109 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


ing to Mannheim in a few days and then I 
expect to have business at the jeweler’s. I 
think I shall want to choose a ring.” 

In the meantime Mrs. Baerens and her hus- 
band were still talking earnestly. The for- 
ester had noticed how unusually quiet his wife 
was during the evening, so he asked her if any- 
thing unpleasant had happened. 

“Not that,” she replied. “But there is 
something of which I would like to talk to you. 
Did you not notice how much interest Otto 
seems to be taking in Carola?” 

The forester looked at her in astonishment. 
“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“I think he is in love with Carola. I can 
hardly doubt it any longer.” 

“In love with Carola,” rej)eated her hus- 
band, as if he were trying to grasp an idea 
wliich had never before occurred to him. Then 
he crossed his hands behind him and began 
walking up and down the room. His wife 
said nothing the while. She knew his ways. 

“Can it be true?” he said at last. “I sup- 
posed he looked upon her as too much of a 
cliild. I am very much surprised at what yoti 
tell me, for outside of that, I always supposed 
Otto to be ambitious and probably inclined to 

110 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


look for a wife whose position would further 
these ambitions in a merely material way. 
JNIoreover, Carola is young and he is planning 
to join a scientifie expedition which will take 
him to Iceland for several years. And then, 
did he tell you so? I am sure Carola doesn’t 
know anything about it. She was too natural 
and unconscious all the time.” 

“I did not give him a chance to talk, or I 
am sure he would have said something to me. 
I wanted to talk to you first, although I felt 
sure that you would be pleased. I do not 
know,” she went on, “how things could have 
shaped themselves more agreeably. Otto is a 
good f ellow. He is young and handsome and 
capable. He will have a good social position 
and his family is excellent. Could we ask any- 
thing better for our child?” 

“Do you think Carola cares for him?” her 
husband asked, suddenly. 

Mrs. Baerens hesitated a minute. “I do be- 
lieve that she rather likes him.” 

The forester looked at her earnestlj^. “My 
dear,” he said, “I agree with everything you 
say about Otto, hut did you never suspect 
that Carola might be thinking of somebody 
else ?” 


Ill 


CONCERNING^ PAUL TIMAR 


She gave him a frightened look. “You 
don’t mean — ” 

“Indeed I do. I mean Paul.” He got up 
and walked up and down the room once more. 
“I may be mistaken, Charlotte, and I wish to 
God that I were. But your own hesitation 
shows that you are not nearly so sure of what 
is in her mind as you are of what is in Otto’s. 
And for that reason I think we ought to con- 
sider all the possibilities.” 

“But, my dear, what puts such ideas into 
your mind now? All that is long since past.” 
“Look here, at Vilnau’s letter. I was going 
to keep it to myself, so as not to give you any 
needless anxiety. But now it is better that 
you should know about it.” He pointed to the 
postscript : “ ‘One more bit of news, in con- 

fidence. Word has at last been received from 
Paul Timar. He is probably on his way home 
now. The rest when I see you.’ What do 
you think Carola would say to that?” 

Mrs. Baerens had turned pale. “Yes, I un- 
derstand now. But they were both nothing 
but mere children Avhen they saw each other 
last, and who knows how he has turned out? 
Perhaps he has forgotten all about Carola.” 
He was more than a child, a good deal 

112 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


more. (His very going away showed that. Of 
course, as you say, he may have changed very 
much during his absence, though I doubt it.” 
“Well, if Paul comes hack and finds that 
Carola is engaged to somebody else, there is 
an end to it all, anyway. Do this much for 
me at least. Take care that she does not hear 
anything about his prospective return. I shall 
promise you, for my part, not to do a thing to 
influence her in favor of Otto, although I do 
hope that she will accept him.” 

“Do you not think it would he better to 
speak to Otto about Carola’s youth and his own 
inexperience? Let him go up north first, and 
see if their love will stand the test.” 

“But think — ” 

“Listen to me, Charlotte. I like Otto very 
much, but when I think of giving him Carola, 
it makes me a bit uneasy just the same. He 
does not seem to have stability enough. There 
is something crude, conceited, undeveloped, 
about him. Now, if it had been the other one, 
Fernau, I would give them my blessing with- 
out a moment’s hesitation. He is a man to 
be depended on, even though a superficial com- 
parison with Otto would put him in the shade. 
Moreover, he would stay here. That would 

113 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


be much bettei* than a lover who becomes en- 
gaged and then departs for distant countries.” 
“For that matter, I really believe Otto 
would give up this expedition for Carola’s 
sake, if we insisted, much as he has thought of 
it. After that he will stay at home and be 
with her just as much as Fernau would.” 

“Do you think so? I am afraid it would 
still he diff erent. But for that matter, we do 
not need to consider Fernau, for he probabty 
does not give Carola a serious thought.” 

“Nor she him,” said Mrs. Baerens, a little 
testily. “Flow differently things always turn 
out from what we expect. I thought nothing 
would please 5^011 more than the knowledge 
that Otto is in love with Carola. And, on the 
contrary, you seem to be quite put out — •” 

“Do not misunderstand me purposely, Char- 
lotte. The happiness of our only child is as 
dear to me as it is to you.” Then he went on 
more quietly. “I realize perfectly that Otto 
is what you women would call something of a 
catch for Carola. But for that very reason 
we want to be careful. Particularly so in 
dealing with her. She is young and extremely 
inexperienced — she has met very few young 
men. She has had nothing to do but to ideal- 

114 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


ize Paul, and you do not know how much she 
may think of him down in the bottom of her 
heart. As for Otto himself — ^lie is alone with 
Carola, and here in the woods young people 
are apt to grow romantic. To-morrow you 
might find your beloved Otto making love to 
Pauline Vilnau.” 

“Pauline? Why she is older than he is, I 
am sure.” 

“Nonsense! She is a charming girl just the 

same, and love laughs at a few years.” 

^ 

v|v Vfk v|v 

Carola, too, was still awake. With a scarf 
thrown over her head, she sat at the open win- 
dow. Over and over again the look Otto had 
given her this afternoon, when he was reading 
aloud, came back to her mind. “Forgive and 
forget,” he had said. He might well say that, 
for, indeed, over and over again it seemed to 
her that she could hardly endure his superior 
manner. And then again, at times, he was so 
kind, so amiable, so considerate, that she could 
not help but like him. Ottilie had asked her 
what she thought of Otto. Could she really 
tell? 

Carola thought of Ottilie very often. She 
seemed to be so taken up with Charles. And 

115 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


yet, how different was the impression she had 
of him from Carola’s memory of him. “Silent, 
almost moody,” Ottilie wrote, while Carola had 
found him full of simple and frank gaiety. 
At other times they always seemed to have the 
same opinion of people. She wished she could 
see Ottilie again. If her parents would only 
consent to spend a few days in Mannheim, 
then they could all meet once more and Ottilie 
could see Otto for herself. He really was 
very hard to describe. 

Ottilie had written: “Just think, Mr. 

Fernau lives with the Timars. He seems to 
be quite friendly with them. I wonder if he 
knows anything about Paul? Shall I try to 
find out, or do you not care particularly to 
know? He promised to call again very soon, 
and, to he frank, I shall be very glad to see 
him. You were right. He is veiy different 
from the ordinary young man. He is the 
kind of a young man I have dreamed of meet- 
ing, but never thought that I would be so 
blessed as to reallj^ see in flesh and blood. But 
I’ll tell you more when I see you. I hope you 
are coming soon.” 

Carola had thought a great deal about this 
part of the letter, and when her father said 

116 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


“St. Hubert’s Lodge,” during the afternoon 
and looked at her, Paul’s face rose before her 
eyes and the question, “Shall I try to find out, 
or do you not care particularly to know?” re- 
peated itself. 

And now, too, she could not put the delicate, 
dark face, with its brilliant, black eyes, that 
used to look at her so tenderly, out of her mind. 
Had he changed much? 

Paul Timar had spent every summer of his 
childhood and boyhood at St. Hubert’s Lodge. 
He was rather a delicate boy and his aunt was 
the more worried about him as his father had 
died very young. To be sure, the physician 
had insisted that it was grief over the loss of 
his young wife that helped to kill the father. 
But Antonie Timar shook her head at the 
thought. “The germ of sickness was there,” 
she declared to her friend, Madame von Vil- 
nau. “A human being can suffer infinitely 
without dying of grief. Very few people die 
of grief alone. None of us were ever very 
strong, and if my brother George and I did 
not live such quiet, regular lives, we would not 
have lasted very long, either.” 

Paul was five years older than Carola, and it 
was perhaps for this reason that the children 

117 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


got along so well together. He felt that he 
was her guide and protector, and she looked 
in an admiring light at everything the elegant 
little city 

“It is pleasant for you too, my dear,” Mad- 
ame von Vilnau would say to Carola’s mother, 
when the latter hesitated about sending her 
little daughter to the Lodge. “Your little girl 
has no one to play with here but the village 
children and, well raised as they mav be for 
the chances they have, it will not hurt her to 
come in contact with other people once in a 
while. Then, too, it is a positive charity to 
Paul to let her come. The little fellow has no 
one to play with, and being around with us old 
people all the while he gets old-fashioned and 
overwise. And most of all, he does not play 
out in the open air as much as he ought when 
he is alone.” 

And, for that matter, protests were of little 
avail. If Carola was not allowed to come to 
St. Hubert’s Lodge, Madame von Vilnau 
brought Paul over, and later, when he got 
older, he came alone to see his “little sister,” 
as he called Carola. 

“He is a remarkable child,” the forester said 
one day to his wife, after Paul had been go- 

118 


boy did. 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


ing through the woods with him. “There is 
something irresistible about him. And you 
would not believe what will power the little 
fellow has. I believe he is naturally very 
timid, but once I told him that a man must not 
be afraid of anything, and since then he sup- 
presses every quiver of fear. If the child 
were raised right something great could be 
made out of him.” 

“But do you not think that he is being raised 
in a most excellent way? Surely Mr. Timar 
and Miss Antonie are very fine people, and 
they give him more attention than some parents 
do their children.” 

“They do their best, but parental authority 
is hard to replace. Moreover, foster-parents 
are usually too anxious to exercise their au- 
thority when children show a bent which they 
themselves do not like. With children like 
Paul this is sometimes a fatal mistake. If 
they can not be that for which they are es- 
pecially fitted they do not turn out well. 
Then, too, he is a little spoiled, which could 
hardly be helped, considering that he has been 
at once a delicate and an amiable child.” 

Mrs. Baerens always believed her husband 
took the matter too seriously when he talked 

119 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


like this. But it was not long before events 
proved him to be right. Paul’s father had 
married an Englishwoman. One of her broth- 
ers had gone to India when he was a young 
man and had won a good position for him self 
there. After the death of his brother-in-law 
he wrote to George Timar offering to help 
to educate the little orphan. When the 
Timars assured him that they were able to care 
for the child in every way he asked to he sent 
word about him once in a while at any rate. 
Accordingly George Timar sent a long letter 
about the little boy to Berhampore every year. 
Mr. Murray was the manager of a large Eng- 
lish company there. He said very little about 
himself, but suggested several times that when 
his sister’s son was grown up, he should like 
to have a chance to help him along in the world. 
When Paul was old enough to write, he was 
encouraged to write to his uncle himself, and 
after that George Timar contented himself 
with adding postscripts to his nephew’s letters. 
Paul took a great deal of pride in this corre- 
spondence and bragged, boy-fashion, of his 
uncle in India, whenever he could. Miss 
Timar complained occasionally to Madame von 
Vilnau that the few lines a year which the 

120 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


uncle in India wrote to Paul offset in his im- 
agination all that everybody did for him at 
home during his whole life. 

The years passed, and Paul made the most 
flattering progress. Antonie would look after 
him with shining eyes as he went to his classes. 
Not one of the other students seemed to com- 
pare with her darling, her child. Indeed, she 
had a right to call him her child. Had she 
not taken him in her arms when he was but a 
new-born infant, and she who had the first 
right to the sweet duties of motherhood was no 
more? 

How he had grown under Antonie’s care! 
A handsome, manly, sturdy youth he had 
grown to be — sickly and delicate though he 
had been as a baby. Her brother often teased 
her when she stood thus and watched Paul. 
But she took it good-naturedly, for she knew 
how proud he himself was of the lad. 

Thus Paul had grown to be eighteen years 
old and ready to leave the academy. He had 
not yet been able to decide what profession he 
wished to follow. The first thing he wanted 
to do was to study law at Heidelberg. The 
most important argument in favor of this de- 
cision, his aunt insisted, was, however, that 

121 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


Heidelberg was nearer to St. Hubert’s Lodge 
than was Mannheim. 

Then one day there came a letter from Ber- 
liampore. Since his first letter after the death 
of Paul’s father, Mr. Murray had never writ- 
ten except in answer to Paul’s yeai’ly letter. 
So the very sight of a letter at this unusual 
time was alarming. N o sooner had Mr. Timar 
read a few lines than he leaned hack in his 
chair with a suppressed groan and handed it 
to his sister. 

“But that is impossible,” she cried out after 
she had read the first few words. “It is alto- 
gether impossible, George.” 

“Oh, everything is possible in these days,” 
he said, bitterly. “See if I am not right. I 
am sure that Paul will like the idea very much. 
He will go.” 

“Oh, no, George. I know him better than 
that. I know he will not. Paul will not leave 
us.” 

“You will see — ^he will go. And really we 
can not blame him. I would have done the 
same thing at eighteen.” 

The clock on the mantel had struck the hour 
more than once, and still the brother and sister 
sat and discussed the letter from India. The 

122 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


prospect Mr. Murray held forth was a tempt- 
ing one. He had grown rich. He was alone. 
A few years more, and he could sever all his 
Indian connections and return to Europe. 
But he felt that his energies were flagging, and 
he wanted some young strength to help him 
across the remaining time that he intended to 
spend in India. Moreover, Paul was the only 
near relative he had left, and, therefore, his 
heir. If Paul did not like the climate, or the 
conditions, he was free to return at once. But 
if he could and would stay, he could earn more 
in a few years in India than in a lifetime in 
Europe. Mr. JMurray was both plausible and 
practical. The route was planned and the 
very day when his good friend. Captain Neill, 
would touch at Marseilles, was given, so that 
Paul had no anxieties as to ways and occasions 
left. 

When the Timars told their darling of his 
uncle’s proposition, the boy turned pale and 
stared in front of him in silence. Suddenly, 
however, his cheeks flushed and he said im- 
petuously: “Let me go. I can reach my 

heart’s desire the sooner that way.” 

Antonie gave her brother a look which 
pierced his heart. But he said quietly : “You 

123 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


must choose for yourself, Paul. We shall not 
restrain you, if you want to go. But think 
well before you decide.” 

Things came to pass as George Timar had 
predicted. Hard as it was for Paul to tear 
himself away from his home and his friends, 
he met Captain Neill at Marseilles on the ap- 
pointed day. 

George Timar went with him to Marseilles. 
He wanted to see the man to whom he and bis 
sister were to intrust their heart’s treasure. 
When he came back, he had nothing but good 
to report to his sister. He liked the captain 
himself, and the captain’s account of Mr. Mur- 
ray was calculated to make him think that, 
save f or the pain of parting, Paul was a lucky 
youth to have such a relative. These reflec- 

My 

tions reconciled him somewhat to Paul’s going, 
but they had no effect on his sister. She could 
not forget the tear-blurred eyes that had been 
turned to her for a last look, nor the whispered 
message which Paul had breathed into her ear 
at the last moment. Day and night she pic- 
tured to herself the terrors of the sea, and the 
dangers of the tropical climate. Later when 
a letter came and gave them assurance of 
Paul’s safe arrival, she tried to imagine how 

124 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


the strange conditions in the distant country, 
with its foreign ways of living and eating, 
might atfect his health and his mind, and she 
thought of him as pining away with homesick- 
ness after the woods and hills of his native 
land. The wistfulness that seemed to pervade 
his letters confirmed her in this thought, and 
led her to hope for the speedy return of her 
darling. 

But suddenly these imaginary ills were over- 
topped and crowded away by real fears. The 
Sepoy rebellion did not rage worse in any part 
of India than at Berhampore, and after its 
outbreak no letters nor word came either from 
Mr. Murray or from Paul. Nor could any- 
thing he learned of the fate of either, and the 
fear that they were among the victims of the 
uprising was confirmed by time in George 
Timar’s mind. 

Not so in his sister’s. Women cling to hope 
long after men have given over to despair. 
When Antonie could expect nothing more 
from human intervention, she depended upon 
the fervent prayers which she had ever sent to 
heaven for the protection of her boy. Her 
brother marveled at her resignation and her 
courage. Not one of the least of her duties 

125 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


was slighted. The only change he noticed was 
that she gradually dropped all social diversions 
except her visits to St. Hubert’s Lodge. 
There she found, indeed, her dearest consola- 
tion, for there she could talk over old times 
and bring hack the days of Paul’s happy child 
life. To be sure, the friend of her heart, 
Madame von Vilnau herself, had the least 
share in these conversations. Her increasing 
deafness made it difficult to talk to her, and 
even if our emotions are no secret, there is still 
something incongruous in screaming them out 
at the top of the voice. But there were always 
Pauline and Herr von Vilnau to talk to about 
Paul. 

Miss Timar naturally took much interest in 
Carola growing up into a beautiful woman- 
hood. She knew how much Paul had thought 
of Carola, and she had taken care that the girl 
should receive his last message — that he was 
but going to India to win treasures for her. 
Nevertheless, she met Carola at St. Hubert’s 
but once, and, pleasant as she was to the girl 
then, the Vilnaus somehow felt that seeing her 
again had pained her in some way. Since 
then they no longer invited her when Miss 
Timar was coming. As far as Carola herself 

126 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


was concerned the Vilnaus also found it more 
and more unbecoming to talk of Paul in her 
presence. Did it not seem altogether probable 
that the young man was dead? If not, must 
it not be taken for granted that he had for- 
gotten all about his country and his people in 
the presence of more immediate interests and 
attractions ? And why, then, should the mem- 
ory of her childhood’s playmate be encouraged 
and kept bright in Carola’s mind merely to 
find later that it had all been a very great mis- 
take? 

Thus it came to pass that Paul’s memory 
was only cherished by those to whom he had 
been dearest as a sort of secret cult. That 
Baerens and his wife should talk of him least 
of all, was in the nature of things. And 
Carola felt that Paul was to be forgotten, 
though she was not clear in her mind as to 
why he should be. This feeling had the 
effect of impressing it upon her as a duty 
almost to keep his memory unstained in her 
mind. When she first became acquainted with 
Ottilie, she told her over and over again all 
that she remembered of Paul, but even Ottilie 
received the whole story as a drama of which 
the last act had been played, and never referred 

127 


CONCERNING PAUL TIMAR 


to the matter herself. And so Paul’s memory 
grew dimmer and dimmer in Carola’s mind, 
but whether it was merely obscured, or alto- 
gether obliterated, Carola herself could not 
have said. 


128 


CHAPTER VIII 
AT ST. Hubert’s lodge 

W HEN Mrs. Baerens noticed the next morn- 
ing that in spite of the splendid weather the 
horses had been harnessed and the carriage was 
waiting, she asked her husband why he had 
ordered it so. He answered briefly : “Father 

Keller is going, and I think that the road is 
still muddy in many places.” 

She did not protest, though the arrangement 
was not all to her liking. Her husband rarely 
gave any orders without consulting her wishes, 
and when he did so he had some unusual rea- 
son, she knew. Somehow she thought she 
could guess the reason to-day. 

“Is that so? Then you can give Ottilie’s 
messages to Father Keller, Carola.” 

“You know that Father Keller is Ottilie’s 
uncle, do you not?” Carola said to Otto in 
answer to his questioning look. “It was 
through him that we became acquainted with 
her.” 

“Father Keller is her uncle,” Otto answered 

129 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


absently as if he had hut half heard. His eyes 
were following every movement of Carola’s, 
who looked more charming than ever in her 
light summer dress. He mentally berated the 
carriage, which seemed designed to rob him of 
the pleasure of walking by her side through 
the forest. He was sulky toward the priest, 
who seemed to him like the fifth wheel on a 
wagon. He had pictured to himself how 
Carola and he would walk side by side and 
what he would say to her, and now everything 
was happening so differently. He had to sit 
up with the coachman and turn his back to his 
beloved one. 

St. Hubert’s Lodge was a graceful building 
in the Gothic style, and a connoisseur would 
note at once that its details had been both 
artistically and lovingly planned by one who 
meant to make a home here and not merely a 
passing stopping place. Everything was ex- 
pressive and fine, from the broad stone steps 
at the entrance, to the cornices on the little 
towers and turrets. 

It impressed Carola not a little when Otto 
noticed all these details of style, and called 
her attention now to this and then to that point 
for confirmation of his remarks. 

130 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


“It is very nice after all to have somebody 
with you who knows about things at once,” 
she said to her father. “I have been here so 
often and I have never noticed these decora- 
tions particularly. Now I do not understand 
how I could have overlooked them.” 

Otto looked at her with shining eyes. At 
this moment the great hall door opened, and a 
gentleman and two ladies appeared at the head 
of the steps. 

The younger one hastened down the steps 
at once and greeted the visitors. Otto quickly 
felt at home among these pleasant people, and 
Carola’s praise of a few moments before had 
put him into bubbling good humor, so that he 
was the life of the breakfast table when they 
all sat down a few minutes later. He won the 
favor of his hosts the more certainly after they 
all rose from the table by his sympathetic 
praise of Pauline’s drawings. 

“You must be an artist or an art lover your- 
self,” said Pauline, as she closed her portfolio. 
“You seem to have such an understanding for 
what is great in art and yet are so quick to 
find out the little merit there is in modest ef- 
forts. I was almost afraid to show you these 
sketches, and yet now I am glad that I did so.” 

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AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


“How modestly you manage to turn all 
praise away from yourself,” Otto replied, flat- 
tered at her remarks. “What I do know of 
art I owe mainly to the direction and the 
pointers of a friend who is indeed an artist 
in his own right. I mean F ernau, the sculptor 
at Mannheim,” he added, as Pauline looked at 
him questioningly. 

“Fernau? I have heard that name before. 
Is he not the young man, father, who is living 
with the Timars?” 

“What is Pauline saying about the Timars, 
child?” Madame von Vilnau asked, turning to 
Carola. 

“She is speaking of Mr. Fernau, who is liv- 
ing with them, auntie, dear,” answered Carola, 
bending down to her ear. 

“Oh, yes. Miss Timar told me that he is a 
most excellent young man.” 

At this Mr. Baerens could not forbear giv- 
ing his wife a meaning look. 

“That’s true,” said Herr von Vilnau. “He 
is a flne artist then, is he. Professor?” 

“He Avill he heard from very soon. At 
present he is at work on a monument whicl: 
promises to be a masterpiece.” 

“Where is he from?” 

132 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


“Mannheim is his native city, and he went to 
school thei’e. After that, of course, he studied 
in Berlin and abroad.” 

“Indeed!” said Madame von Vilnau, with 
more interest than she usually took in conver- 
sation. “Perhaps he knew Paul at school 
then?” 

There was a momentary pause, and the lady, 
noticing the questioning look in Otto’s eyes, 
regretted her remark. Otto, seeing her em- 
barrassment, suddenly remembered Charles’ 
hints about a nephew who had disappeared in 
some way. 

“Fernau,” he said quickly, “attended the 
technical schools and then, too, he has always 
been much alone. Even now he is a regular 
hermit.” 

“How would it be if we went for a walk 
with our friends, my dear?” Herr von Vilnau 
said to his wife. “We must show the Pro- 
fessor the outlook from the heights. That 
would just about fill up the time until we 
dine.” 

Pauline said she would have to stay at home 
and assist in directing the preparations. 

“That is nice of you, Lina. Always think- 
ing of making things pleasant for your mam- 

133 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


ma,” said the forester, rising. “Carola can 
stay with you and help you out.” 

Mrs. Baerens looked at her husband in a dis- 
pleased fashion for a few moments ; then, how- 
ever, she consoled herself. What good would 
it do him to keep Otto away from Carola to- 
day? To-morrow she would take care that he 
would get his chance. 

“Are the young ladies not going with us?” 
asked Otto, in astonishment, when he saw that 
the girls made no movement to leave. 

“You will have to be satisfied with me to- 
day, my young friend,” said Father Keller. 
“All these people seem to have many things to 
tell each other after their long separation, and 
we are the only two who can generalize on the 
scenery and the day.” 

Otto looked back and saw the girls standing 
beside each other talking eagerly. He saw, 
too, that Carola had suddenly dropped her eyes 
and blushed. He was sure that she had been 
looking after him. 

Madame von Vilnau and Mrs. Baerens went 
on a considerable distance ahead, as that was 
the only way they could be sure of not being 
overheard. Vilnau himself began talking 
about the Professor, his amiability, his clever- 

134 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


ness, and his admiration for Carola. “Com- 
pared to him, I am sure Paul would get the 
worst of it,” he said. 

“Tell me what you know about Paul,” in- 
terrupted the forester. “Your postseript sur- 
prised me.” 

“I can imagine you did not tell Carola any- 
thing about it, and I, for my part, forbade my 
wife and Pauline to say a word to her. Miss 
Timar writes us that she has received a letter 
from him, in which he writes in the same old 
affectionate way. It may be so. His affec- 
tion may have remained, even if he has changed 
in other ways. According to his letter he must 
have suffered terribly during the war. His 
uncle’s house was looted and burned, and they 
themselves barely escaped with their lives. 
For months they were hidden in a lonely hut, 
until at last Mr. Murray died as the result of 
the shock and the privations. After that Paul 
himself was sick with fever for a long time. 
If he was able later to arrange his uncle’s af- 
fairs and save something of his fortune, his 
aunt does not say. She gives many details, 
but, after the manner of women, forgets the 
main point. F or my part I am anxious to see 
how the boy has turned out. God knows we 

135 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


loved him almost as if he had been our own 
child.” 

“And you know how much we all thought of 
Paul. In the meantime — ” 

“Don’t say another word,” said Vilnau. “I 
understand the situation fully, and must con- 
fess that Professor Rudolphi is a man whom 

I—” 

“I did not mean that,” protested the for- 
ester. “I wanted to speak of Paul. It is 
more than possible that he has put his attach- 
ment to Carola far behind him as a childish 
fancy, and for that reason I would not like — ” 
“No, you do not believe that yourself, if you 
really knew and understood Paul. You really 
can not think that, if you look at your daugh- 
ter. But poor Paul seems to have gathered 
few treasures in India, and, moreover, what 
has he learned? That remains to he seen. 
And, one thing more — he never was a Her- 
cules, and the Sepoys and the fever have hardly 
helped him much. To be sure, I must confess 
that before I saw Professor Rudolphi, I felt 
less keenly and practically in the matter. We 
have to consider the situation for the child. 
Romantic and overdrawn as youth is apt to be, 
it would be quite possible for her to feel that 

136 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


she had to prefer Paul because of an imag- 
inary obligation of loyalty to him and refuse 
this fine young man — ” 

“That is what my wife thinks, too. It never 
entered my own mind that he could possibly 
be in love with Carola, but now I am really be- 
ginning to think so myself.” 

“Carola does not seem to dislike him, either. 
Perhaps it was a provision of Providence that 
he arrived befoi’e Paul returned.” 

Something in ]\Ir. Baerens’ heart rebelled 
against this assumption. Secretly he had al- 
ways hoped that Carola would forget Paul, 
and now the thought that she might marry 
some one else seemed an injustice to him. 

After dinner Pauline showed her friends a 
% 

number of valuable photographs and etchings, 
with an occasional drawing of her own. Sev- 
eral very delicately executed drawings, reliefs 
by Thorwaldsen, excited Otto’s admiration to 
such a degree that Pauline timidly suggested 
that he keep them as souvenirs of his visit to 
St. Hubert’s Lodge. 

“You are too kind,” protested Otto. “It 
would be a pity to rob this delightful collection. 
Moreover, I am more presumptuous than you 
think, for I hope to come here again and again 

137 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


and admire these beautiful things with you.” 
“That would please me very much. But I 
must have misunderstood Carola. I thought 
you were going north on a scientific expedi- 
tion.” 

“Indeed, I am sorry to say that I must go, 
and that very soon. But I mean to come back 
and bring you something from the home of the 
great sculptor to add to your collection.” 

“I shall take you at your word, but only on 
condition that you bring the gift yourself.” 
“Of course,” he said gaily. “Carola and I 
will bring it, and we will go along the beauti- 
ful path you told me about yesterday, will we 
not, Carola?” 

She did not answer. She did not seem to 
have heard what he said. She watched him as 
he helped Pauline arrange the pictures, and 
could not suppress a f eeling of envy as she saw 
how careful and considerate he was, and, above 
all, how respectful. She had feared secretly 
that his assurance and his superior manner 
would make a bad impression on Pauline. 
But there was not a trace of these things in 
his behavior on this day, and Pauline seemed 
much taken up with him. “Yes,” thought 
Carola, “if Otto had always been so respectful 

138 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


and courteous to me, mamma M^ould never have 
needed to take me to task for being testy with 
him.” 

For a few moments she gave way to these 
thoughts. When she looked up again her eyes 
met Otto’s, who seemed to be looking at her 
anxiously. “To be sure,” she thought to her- 
self, “Pauline is much older and more sensible 
than I am.” 

In a moment she was ashamed of her pet- 
tiness, and she said pleasantly to Pauline: 
“You will be much interested in all the tales 
that Mr. Rudolph! will have to tell you about 
the wonders of the far north when he comes 
back.” 

“The tales will be here before me. I shall 
write very fully to you.” 

“To me?” said Carola, and looked at him in 
astonishment. 

“Why, of course, or could it be that — ” 

He hesitated as he caught the look in her 
eyes. 

“Pauline, are we to have our coffee?” 
Vilnau called out just then. 

Otto bent down over the portfolio, but his 
eyes held Carola’s. “You would not like to 

have me write to vou?” He finished his 

•/ 

139 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


interrupted sentence softly. When she did 
not answer at once, he whispered tremblingly, 
“Carola, am I nothing to you?” 

She turned pale and dropped her eyes. 
Then she said, almost inaudibly, “Yes.” 

“You make me vei*y happy,” Otto 
whispered. Then he closed the portfolio and 
turned to the gentlemen, who were coming 
toward him just then, talking politics eagerly. 

In a few minutes Pauline invited them to 
have their coffee, and, as she passed Carola, 
she whispered to her: “What has happened 

to you? You look so different.” 

“It is nothing,” said Carola, hut the flush 
which rose to her cheeks gave her lips the lie. 

Pauline asked no more questions. But she 
insisted that evening after her guests had gone 
that Carola and Otto Rudolph! would yet 
make a match of it. 

aV 

In the meantime the visitors were rolling 
homeward through the soft summer night. 
Scarcely a leaf stirred nor was the silence 
broken by the little company. The forester 
leaned back in his corner half asleep. His 
wife, however, was too disappointed to think 
of sleep, tired as she was. 

140 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


She had watched Carola hard all day. W as 
it possible that her husband was right, and that 
the memory of Paul was still vivid enough to 
make her indifferent toward Otto? The girl 
had hardly looked at Otto, and had left his 
entertainment chiefly to Pauline. And, for 
that matter, Otto himself paid more attention, 
it seemed to Mrs. Baerens, to Pauline than was 
necessary. The most annoying thought of all 
to her was that her husband would use all these 
circumstances as evidences to prove his conten- 
tion. And yet she f elt sure that Otto thought 
of no one but Carola, but how could she 
convince the forester? She thought, too, of 
Fernau, of whom Carola always spoke so 
admiringly. But the very fact that she did so, 
so openly, convinced her mother that there 
was nothing in it. Moreover, in Mrs. Baerens’ 
opinion, Fernau was not to be compared with 
Otto. 

While Mrs. Baerens imagined all sorts of 
things, the object of her maternal worries sat 
opposite her, apparently sound asleep. But 
it was only in appearance. Carola kept her 
eyes closed so as to be able to follow her own 
thoughts without hindrance, and to repeat to 
herself the words which Otto had whispered 

141 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


to her as she rose from the piano: “My own, 
my own Carola.” 

Had she really given him the right to speak 
like that to her? She felt worried and dis- 
turbed that he had drawn such a conclusion 
from her answer to his eager question. To 
be sure she was not indilferent to him. She 
never had been since the first time she saw 
him, hut while his appearance attracted her, 
his manner always repelled her. This was the 
first day that nothing had happened to dis- 
please her, and when she had seen him so pleas- 
ant with Pauline it had dawned on her how 
precious his smile had become to her. And yet 
the thought that he cared for her did not fill 
her with that singleness of joy that this 
certainty is wont to give a loving heart. 

Otto was annoyed that the utter silence made 
it impossible for him to whisper an endearing 
word to Carola. He could have sung out his 
joy to the hills and the trees. In his mind 
he embraced all his family and his friends — 
first of all, his mother and Charles, and whis- 
pered to them the burden of his happiness — 
that she was his now, his Carola, his dear little 
bride-to-be. 

Although he never really doubted that he 

142 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


would win her, he had not been quite so sure 
as he was in his talk with Charles on that 
first morning. Often when an endearing 
term had arisen to his lips, he hesitated and 
suppressed it at sight of her innocent, unsus- 
pecting glance. For all this delay, however, 
he was but the happier now. He was even 
enjoying in imagination the astonishment of 
his friends when he announced his engagement 
to a little country girl, and their even greater 
astonishment when they saw this girl, for every 
other woman would have to stand back when 
Carola appeared — at least so Otto thought. 

The reverend gentleman was perhaps the 
only one of the entire party who really enjoyed 
the peace and beauty of the night. His eyes 
were sometimes fixed on the silver crescent of 
the moon, followed here and there by flocks 
of white cloudlets, and again they gazed on 
the fantastic fog- wraiths, which the soft breeze 
seemed to wrest from the edges of the forest 
and waft toward the carriage. Nevertheless 
his thoughts, too, were dwelling on the events 
of the day. He wFose heart has no selfish 
interest in the currents of the world can see 
farther and more clearly sometimes than those 
who are whirling in their midst. Thus, too, 

143 


AT ST. HUBERT’S LODGE 


on this day, the sympathetic and silent observer 
had guessed more of the emotions of the var- 
ious ones present than they themselves realized. 
He was most occupied, perhaps, with the 
conversation he had had with Otto, for it led 
him to believe that the rising artist Fernau 
was much interested in his niece, Ottilie 
Kampe, in whose affairs he was the more 
interested as the direction of mind which 
obtained in his sister’s house did not always 
please him. 

“As the rising fogs obscure the light, so 
do mistakes and evil inclinations obscure the 
path of lif e. Lead Thou us, O Lord, through 
shadows and evils, to the truth and to the 
knowledge of what is right and good,” 
he prayed to Him who holds the stars in His 
right hand and guides the earth on its path. 
Then the doubt that had oppressed his soul, 
too, was lifted and he was at peace. 


144 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 

Ottilie Kampe was sitting in her room 
reading a letter whieh she had just reeeived. 

“To-morrow,” she said, and folded up the 
letter. 

Then she got up and walked out on the 
veranda, which opened on a charming little 
garden. 

“To-morrow,” she repeated once more very 
softly, and pressed her hand to her side. 

Her eyes wandered over the bright flower- 
beds, which broke the green of the grass on 
the lawn, to the old chestnut trees of the Castle 
Park, which hung over the garden wall, and 
formed a deep background for the vivid colors 
in the garden. Ottilie looked very beautiful 
as she stood there, her blond head resting on 
her hand, and her tall, slender figure leaning 
over the railing. The woman who came to 
the door behind her stopped for a moment, 

145 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


looking at her with maternal pride. Then 
she went closer and spoke to her. 

Ottilie started. 

“Is it you, mother? I was going to look 
you up. Just think from whom I have 
received a letter.” 

“From the Baerens? And are they com- 
ing?” she asked quickly. “Are they going 
to bring their guest, the gentleman from 
Berlin, with them?” 

“O, yes; and they are coming on the early 
train.” 

“Why, they will he here before ten o’clock, 
and you are standing there dreaming. What 
is going to become of you, girl, some day when 
you have to look after a house of your own? 
But, say, child,” she went on a moment later, 
“is Uncle Keller coming?” 

“Hardly! Carola does not mention him.” 

“That is too bad,” said Mrs. Kampe, but the 
exclamation really sounded almost joyful. 

Her brother was very dear to her, but, 
much as she liked to see him at other times, she 
was glad he was not coming this once, for she 
wanted to make a show. The simplicity in 
the forest home really was too great, she 
thought. She knew better what was what. 

146 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


Everything was elegant in her house. She 
had had it rearranged since Ottilie came back 
from school. To be sure, her husband had 
thought the old things would last a little 
longer, and that an entirely new refitting 
would be very expensive; but she had her way 
at last. He was a good man — able and indus- 
trious. All day long he was out with his work- 
men, and, as he was a well-to-do contractor, 
he earned a great deal of money. He had 
trouble and annoyance enough, however, with 
his men during the day. When he came home 
tired out at night, he wanted peace. His wife 
knew that, and used her knowledge to her own 
advantage. IMoreover, she was really a good 
manager, and so he did what she wanted him to, 
particulai’ly since it flattered him very much, 
that he, once a simple foreman, had risen to 
such a high social position, and that his women- 
folk were among the most elegant in 
Mannheim. 

Mr. Kampe himself had gone to Karlsruhe 
early in the morning, and could not possibly 
get back before evening. His better half 
honestly regretted this, for she knew how glad 
he would have been to see Mr. Baerens, and, 
to her credit it must be said, that even the f ear 

147 


THE BAERENS VISIT IMANNHEIM 


that he might be guilty of some breach of 
etiquette in the presence of the gentleman 
from Berlin, did not outweigh this regret. 
Her clerical brother, however, sometimes 
looked at her so peculiarly, or made such queer 
remarks when she was right at the climax of 
her delight in her surroundings, and filled with 
the feeling that she was duly impressing her 
guests by her elegance, that it was just as well 
that he was going to be left at home. 

After a few minutes’ reflection she said to 
her daughter: “I shall go down and talk to 

Trina at once about the meals. As for you, 
go through the rooms and see that everything 
is all right. You will have to do most of the 
entertaining. I am so glad now that we have 
that new, carved sideboard. Eveiything looks 
so elegant on it.” 

“Do not fuss too much, mother,” Ottilie 
begged. “The Baerens are very simple 
people.” 

“Well, we can afford to put on a little style. 
But what shall we do this afternoon? We 
can not sit at home all the while, and there is 
not time enough to go to any of the resorts 
around here.” 

“They will have trip enough coming from 

148 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


Rauheneck to Mannheim, and will be glad to 
spend the day quietly. I was just thinking, 
mother, that we ought to ask Mr. F ernau, too, 
to call this afternoon. He is the Profes- 
sor’s most intimate friend, and the Baerens, 
too, liked him very much when he visited 
them.” 

“Do you think so? He seems a very dry, 
stiff sort of a fellow to me. I must say I 
would take him to be almost anything but an 
artist. But if you think that they would like 
to meet him — ” 

“I am sure they would,” said her daughter, 
hr ightly, “Carola always asks about him.” 

“Carola?” asked Mrs. Kampe in astonish- 
ment. “I am sure she did not care about him 
at all, and is only interested in him because 
of his friendship for their guest. Shall I ask 
him to luncheon?” 

“No, I think not. He will be more likely 
to come if you do not ask him to luncheon. 
Sometime, when father is at home, we can 
send him a formal invitation.” 

“You are right, as you always are, my dear. 
It is better form to do as you say, too, and Mr. 
Fernau must be a man accustomed to meeting 
fine people, or people like the Timars would 

149 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


not have received him into their house. Shall 
I send Frederick to ask him?” 

“Oh, Frederick is so awkward. And if 
he should not find him at home, it would be 
unpleasant. I’ll write him a note, and all 
Frederick need do then is deliver it.” 

“Very well, that may be better.” 

Ottilie looked after her mother until the 
door was shut behind her. Then she ran to 
her writing-desk. But the pen which was 
wont to fly over the sheets at other times 
remained hesitatingly in her hand. 

What should she say to him and how 
address him? 

Little as Ottilie had seen of Fernau, it had 
been enough to convince her that he was very 
different from the ordinary young society man. 
He seemed to her to be the first young man she 
had ever met to whom she could look up in 
every way. So she sat there and wondered 
what she should say until her mother’s voice, 
asking, “Where is the note? Frederick is 
waiting,” brought her back to the immediate 
present. 

“Oh, I really did not know what to say — ” 
“You did not know what to say? You can 
write most beautiful letters when you want to.” 

150 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 

So Ottilie hurriedly wrote a few lines, the 
stiff est and stupidest note she had ever written 
in her life, she thought later. But while she 
thus trembled over the style of her note, 
Fernau himself was only concerned with its 
import. Over and over he wondered how he 
could manage to refuse to go, and yet in the 
afternoon he rang Kampe’s door bell at the 
appointed time. 

The company were sitting in the little arbor 
when the servant showed Charles to the glass 
door that led from the end of the hall into the 
garden. He paused for a moment to locate 
her whom he wished to avoid and yet wanted 
to see. 

Mrs. Kampe was sitting between Carola’s 
parents, beaming with pleasure. Otto was 
talking to the young ladies. Ottilie could not 
take her eyes off the door. She could hardly 
conceal her excitement, and when the door 
opened, she started so that she felt sure the 
rest must have noticed her confusion. But 
none but she noticed Fernau until they heard 
his footsteps crunching the gravel. Otto 
sprang to his feet and ran to meet his friend, 
with both hands outstretched. Charles re- 
turned this enthusiastic greeting somewhat 

151 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


coolly. All the others, too, met Fernau with 
great cordiality. Ottilie alone was stiff and 
constrained. She envied Carola the graceful, 
easy way in which she talked to Fernau, and 
told him how much they had regretted his 
sudden departure. For a moment a mad 
jealousy filled Ottilie, as she looked at Carola, 
but Fernau’s face was serious and cold. 

As the conversation became general, her 
self-possession returned, and she was able to 
respond to Otto’s remarks calmly and intel- 
ligently. He was asking her how she had 
liked Wiesbaden. 

“Were you there with your parents?” 
Fernau inquired. 

“Yes; last fall.” 

“I suppose your father pointed out to you 
the architectural beauties you admire so 
much?” 

“Oh, no,” interrupted her mother, proudly. 
“Ottilie has a natural taste for these things. 
That is why her father likes to take her 
with him.” 

“One can understand that,” said Fernau. 
“It is really a double pleasure to view works of 
art in the company of people who have a taste 
and understanding for them.” 

152 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


Ottilie blushed. 

“Especially if that somebody is a beautiful 
young woman,” added Otto, courteously, while 
he thought: “What a blunderer Charles is 

to generalize like that when talking to his 
lady love. Could he not make it personal just 
as well? I shall have to give him a few 
pointers. He will spoil the whole affair with 
his awkwardness ; all the more because the lady 
is as beautiful as a queen is supposed to be, 
and just as proud. I wonder what he will 
say when he learns that I have already been 
successful.” 

By and by the two young men announced 
that they were going down into the city for 
a little walk, and on business, and the girls 
were left to their own chatter. 

“At last we are alone,” said Ottilie. “I am 
sure you have a lot to tell me, Carola?” 

“How do you like Otto? Tell me truly,” 
Carola answered, so excitedly that Ottilie was 
astonished. 

“Are you engaged, Carola?” she asked, 
softly. “Are you?” 

Carola grew very red. “Did mother tell 
you anything, or what makes you think so?” 
she whispered. 


153 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


“No one told me anything. I just rather 
guessed it from the way he acted.” 

“Did you? Well, we are not engaged as 
yet, but I must tell you all about it; let us go 
and sit down.” 

\L» 'i' vl/ 

In the meantime the young men were on 
their way to the jeweler’s. 

“Who would have thought all this a few 
weeks ago, when we were walking along, 
making plans about our future homes and 
telling what kind of wives we would select,” 
said Otto, after he had hastily told Fernau his 
side of the story. “Z have won my bride now, 
and you, too, are — ” 

“Don’t let’s talk about me to-day,” said 
Charles, bitterly, although he was trying his 
best to appear calm. 

Otto felt the repulse of the tone and 
thought. “O ho, something’s wrong. I think 
I’ll save my good advice for some more 
propitious time.” 

He was too happy, however, to be depressed 
by the possible worries of his friend, and in a 
few moments he was chatting gaily again. 

“You can imagine,” he said, “what self- 
control I must exercise so as not to betray 

154 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


myself before strangers. I must acknowledge 
that Carola’s parents are right in insisting that 
I should go up north first before our engage- 
ment is made public and confirmed.” 

“Even I am not supposed to know it then, 
in talking to Carola?” 

“Heaven forbid,” said Otto. “I mean,” 
noticing the astonished look in Charles’ eyes, 
“she may guess that I would naturally tell you, 
but she is still so shy and sensitive, and as 
we are to be parted for some time to come, 
it is just as well if you do not appear to know 
anything about it.” 

“Just as you think best. But you yourself 
will not object to receiving my congratulations 
now. I wish you much joy — ^liow could I do 
otherwise when you have won such a girl.” 
“How solemnly you say that! To be sure 
there are still some little things to be settled — 
but time is too precious to talk about them 
now.” 

“Here we are at the jeweler’s,” said Charles, 
while vague notions of the “little things still 
to be settled” floated through his mind. 

If he had been as near the girls in the 
garden as the lilac bush behind them he would 

155 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


have been enlightened as to one or two of the 
“little things.” 

“You can imagine,” said Carola, “that I 
did not sleep very much after the day we 
spent at St. Hubert’s Lodge. Once I was 
going to get up and tell mother all about it, 
and then I thought, after all, it was so very 
little. He only asked me if he is nothing to 
me? And of course he is. I thought surely 
he would say something different, or more 
definite to me if he was serious, before he 
would go to my parents and ask their consent. 
You can imagine how startled I was when 
father sent for me the next morning to talk 
to me. Otto had been to see him, and told him 
how happy I had made him by the confession 
of my love for him. He said, too, how pleased 
his parents would be with his choice, and he 
knew we would have their blessing and help. 
I can not tell you how confused I was. And 
I am sure father noticed it. He was so kind 
and patient with me, and .asked me about 
everything. He even asked me if I still 
thought of Paul.” 

Ottilie looked at her searchingly. “And 
don’t you think of him any more?” 

“No,” Carola answered. “I do not mean,” 

156 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


she said after a few moments, “that I have 
forgotten him, and yet I seem to feel dif- 
ferently toward Otto than I did toward Paul.” 
“Then why did you not simply say ‘Yes’ to 
Otto without making conditions?” 

“Oh, I can not tell, Ottilie. I am afraid 
you will think I am childish because I do not 
know. Mother told Otto that it was just my 
shyness and the strangeness of the idea, and he 
seems to take it that way, too. But it is really 
more than that, Ottilie. Father seems to 
understand me better, and I really owe it to 
him that the engagement has not been made 
public, and that Otto has not even told his 
parents about it. We are to get better 
acquainted, father thought, and understand 
each other better. Especially as I am still so 
young. We are going to write frequently 
w'hile he is traveling, and when he comes 
back — ” 

“The engagement will be announced,” said 
Ottilie. “I suppose that is the way it will 
really end.” 

“I believe so myself,” whispered Carola. 
“Otto at least seems to have no other idea. I, 
for my part, really feel that I shall miss him 
very much when he is gone. He is so kind 

157 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


and pleasant, much more so than you would 
think when you hear him talk.” 

Later, when the visitors had gone, Ottilie 
kept thinking of Carola’s confession. She 
did not really like Otto, and yet she could not 
tell what there was about him that displeased 
her. Her mother was delighted with him. 
She thought she had never seen such an amiable 
and fascinating young man. Compared to 
Otto, Fernau lost infinitely in her mind. If 
the good woman had guessed that the impres- 
sion made on her daughter was exactly 
opposite ! 

“Now I can understand your description 
of Mr. Fernau,” Carola had said to Ottilie 
among other things. “I hardly recognize him 
here. Meeting his friend and the free air of 
the forest must have made him so gay and 
talkative when he Avas with us recently. The 
next morning, e\^en, he had grown much more 
quiet, and in addition he seemed very embar- 
rassed to-day. I suppose that was on your 
account. And how he praised your taste. 
You two seem to be created for each other.” 

Carola had said much to her that was sym- 
pathetic and encouraging, for Ottilie had told 
her very frankly how great an impression the 

158 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


young sculptor had made on her. Charles’ 
reluctance to show the company his studio, 
Carola had explained by saying that he wanted 
to give himself another opportunity for a visit 
with Ottilie and one less disturbed by others. 
It is easy to be convinced of that which we 
wish to believe, and so Ottilie, usually so clear 
of eye and keen of mind, went to sleep, dream- 
ing rosy dreams of happiness to be. 

“At least I know my mind,” she thought, 
“and will not have to have several years to 
think about it when he asks me.” 

Ottilie had the reputation in Mannheim of 
being a proud and somewhat spoiled beauty, 
kind and sensible as she was at heart. She 
had, ’tis true, something assured and haughty 
in her manner, but it was rather the uncon- 
scious habit of a mind accustomed to seeing 
life only from the pleasant side, increased by 
the imposing effect of her splendid beauty. 
Her mother’s influence would have been cal- 
culated to make an idle and frivolous society 
girl of her, but her uncle. Father Keller, had 
done all he could to suppress this tendency in 
his beloved niece, and it was to him chiefly 
that she owed the development of the fine 
natural qualities, both of mind and soul, that 

159 


TPIE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


saved her from drifting into merely superficial 
pleasure. 

It was for this reason, too, that Ottilie had 
the depth of feeling and of understanding 
that enabled her to appreciate Fernau and, in 
spite of his plainer and less fascinating 
exterior, instinctively prefer him to Otto. 

yfr 

Charles Fernau sat over his work until late 
that evening. “Why did I let myself be per- 
suaded to see her again?” he whispered, laying 
aside his pencil at last. “Why did I stir up 
all the things again that ought to be f or gotten 
and put aside? Why was she pleasant and 
sweet to me? Why does she look at me that 
way with her soft brown eyes? Why could 
she not be like the other one, silent, and proud, 
and cold, and obscure her beauty by a distant 
manner? But then she is a happy girl and 
she must smile and let her happiness irradiate 
her being. She let herself be won very, very 
quickly. Fool that I was to think that his 
bold manner, his self-conceit — ” 

He hesitated. “You ought to he ashamed 
of yourself, Charles Fernau,” he broke out 
then. “Be a man and do not grudge a friend 
his happiness. Was she not destined for him? 

160 


THE BAERENS VISIT MANNHEIM 


He saw her first while I was gazing at the 
blond hair and Juno-like figure of the proud 
Kampaspe. It served me right.” 

Yet, if the dear old Professor Fischer had 
been able to look into Charles’ heart on this 
evening, he would not have been quite satisfied 
with the sort of inward building and ham- 
mering his beloved pupil was doing. 


161 , 


CHAPTER X 


carola’s lover starts north 

It was less than a week later that Otto 
Rudolph! came to breakfast looking disturbed 
and distressed. “Just think,” he said, in 
answer to JSIrs. Baerens’ question as to what 
had happened. “I have just received a letter 
from Bonn asking me to come at once. I can 
not tell you how I feel when I think of the 
prospective separation. I should like to give 
up the journey entirely.” 

“You are hardly free to do that now, are 
you?” asked Mrs. Baerens. 

Carola had turned pale. 

“Shall I stay, child?” he asked tenderly. 
“If you say one word against my going, I 
will not go.” 

She looked at him, surprised, uncertain. 
She was still childish enough to find tempta- 
tion in the power which he accorded her. But 
her father spoke for her: “You will not 

think Carola is so foolish as to try to dissuade 

162 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


you f rom a plan that is part of your life-work 
just for the sake of keeping you with us a 
few weeks longer? My daughter is not so 
selfish and thoughtless as that, are you ?” 

“To be sure not, father. That would be 
unfair of me.” 

In her heart she was thankful, however, 
that her father had saved her from giving her 
decision. If she had kept him from going, 
she felt she would have bound herself without 
recall, and, much as she thought of Otto, 
it gave her a thrill of delight to think that 
she still had a measure of freedom and choice 
left. 

They discussed the best train for Otto to 
take, and expressed their regret that so many 
things that they had planned would have to 
be given up now. Finally Mrs. Baerens 
suggested that they make a trip to Heidelberg 
on this last day. 

“It Vv'ill not take you long to pack your 
things,” she urged to Otto, “and if we stay 
here, the day will pass very sadly for us all. 
You liked Heidelberg so much, too.” 

Otto reflected for a few moments and then, 
though he agreed with her as to the delight 
of such a trip, he thought that he would 

163 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


prefer to spend this last day quietly with the 
family. Mr. Baerens himself liked this idea, 
too, and, noting IMrs. Baerens’ look of disap- 
pointment, Otto took occasion to whisper to 
her that he still had some little things for 
Carola he wanted to look after. 

Carola herself was well enough pleased to 
stay at home. There had been so much going 
about of late that she felt it would be well 
to spend a quiet day and get a grasp on her 
emotions. 

“For your sake,” said Mr. Baerens, turn- 
ing to Otto, “I’ll stay at home this morning, 
and this afternoon we can all take a little walk 
through the woods over to that little arbor Ave 
call the Hermitage. You remember where 
you saw us that first day.” 

“That will suit me excellently,” said Otto. 
“It is not far from there to Lambrecht, and I 
must do down to the village to look after 
something.” He gave Mrs. Baerens a know- 
ing look. 

“To Lambrecht?” Carola asked, reproach- 
fully. 

“I have ordered some things from Mann- 
heim Avhich are due at Lambrecht at half past 
six this afternoon. I need them, and if I 

164 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


wait for the delivery to-morrow it will be 
too late.” 

“Are these things of such importance that 
you must leave us on this last day to get 
them?” Carola pouted. “You learned people 
are always fussing about something. Seems 
to me they have things at Bonn, too.” 

“Why, Carola, what do you know about it?” 
Mrs. Baerens protested. 

But Otto was delighted with this little dis- 
play of Carola’s displeasure, for it seemed to 
show him how much she would miss his 
presence. He went out for a walk with 
Baerens and to have a little chat. Baerens 
had grown to like the young man more and 
more. His little peculiarities and assump- 
tions of superiority no longer jarred on him as 
he had told his wif e in the beginning that they 
did. He told Otto verj^ frankly about Paul 
Timar’s expected home-coming, and asked him 
whether he thought Carola ought to be told. 
But Otto felt that it would but confuse her at 
this time, in which he was upheld by Mrs. 
Baerens. There was something of the under- 
lying feeling in Otto’s mind, too, that he could 
hold his own against a half -for gotten young 
fellow, blackened and wasted by the suns of 

165 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


India, and impoverished and disappointed by 
its misfortunes. 

At noon visitors came from Rose Villa, and 
as the proposed family quiet was thus broken 
in upon anjrway, the Baerens invited Father 
Keller to spend the afternoon with them, too. 

“It really was a very pleasant afternoon, 
and made us forget for the time that there 
was to be any parting. I suppose Otto will 
be back soon — it is getting late. What do 
you think, mother?” said Baerens, when they 
were alone once more. 

“I am sure he will hurry all he can. Au- 
gust always drives hard.” 

“If he stays very much longer I’ll go to 
bed. I am very tired,” said Carola. 

“Indeed!” replied her mother. “Are you 
that tired? August and Friederike, who car- 
ried the heavy lunch-baskets over to the Her- 
mitage, are probably quite as tired as you are, 
at least they have more reason to be, and they 
are still at work, while you are doing noth- 
mg. 

Carola’s eyes filled with tears. Her mother 
had never spoken to her in that way before. 
It was unheard of to compare her with the 
servants. Indeed, her mother ought to have 

166 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


had more consideration for her on this par- 
ticular evening, when she must have realized 
how slighted and unhappy Carola felt. The 
very last day, and he had had to go to Lam- 
brecht! He was going through Lambrecht 
to-morrow morning as it was. Why could he 
not have waited until then? The whole even- 
ing was spoiled — the last evening. She had 
pictured this last evening as being spent very 
differently. But it was just as well. She was 
not his wife yet. She had always felt that 
they were not exactly suited to each other. 
She did not expect much, but such indiffer- 
ence was not to be tolerated. 

“Carola,” said her mother, gently now, “you 
must not be so sensitive if you expect to be a 
happy woman. Men often have business and 
duties to which they must sacrifice their own 
pleasures and desires, and even their regard 
for our wishes. I am sure Otto would have 
preferred to stay here with us — ” 

“Here he is,” Baerens interrupted her. 

Otto entered with shining eyes. “Wasn’t 
that a quick trip?” he called out. 

“Did you get what you expected? Was 
everything satisfactory?” asked Mrs. Baerens. 

“Oh, everything was better than I expected. 

167 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


I am delighted,” and he drew a chair beside 
Carola. But it was hard to talk. All the 
pretty speeches which Otto had had in prepa- 
ration for this last evening slipped out of his 
mind. As they bade each other good night he 
held Carola’s hand, and said hesitatingly, 
’’Dear Carola, I should like to — have — in 
remembrance — ” he stopped entirely. “I 
shall see you to-morrow morning once more 
surely, shall I not?” 

“To be sure,” said Baerens. “Do you think 
that we could let such a dear guest as you are 
go away without a good-by from all of us? I 
shall drive you over to Lambrecht myself.” 

While Otto lingered to speak to her father, 
Carola slipped up to her own room. She 
locked her door as if afraid of being disturbed 
or watched. Then she threw herself on her 
bed and began to cry. 

After a few minutes she raised her head, 
and, wiping her eyes, said: “Why am I cry- 

ing, anyway? Is it not well that I should 
realize in time that he thinks of me just as of 
a child to whom it is not worth while to talk 
intelligently of sensible things? If he had 
even told me why he insisted on going to Lam- 
brecht! And then mamma is always taking 

168 



“The girl gave a cry of delight. In an exquisite bowl on her 
table stood a bouquet of wild and garden flowers.” — Page 109. 







CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 

his part, too. I wonder if I really am doing 
him an injustice in feeling as I do.” She 
went to the window and looked out. Perhaps 
the peaceful beauty of the night quieted her 
excited mind. After a while she closed the 
window, and drawing the curtain, lighted her 
candles. Hardly, however, had the faint light 
touched the objects in the room when the girl 
gave a cry of delight. In an exquisite bowl 
on her table stood a bouquet of wild and gar- 
den flowers. 

She took up the bowl and turned it around. 
How delicate, how costly it was! She had 
admired one somewhat like this at an art store 
on the day they had all been at INIannheim to- 
gether. She put the flowers back into it care- 
fully. Then, too, the fact that it was not filled 
with florist’s flowers, but flowers that the giver 
must have gathered and arranged himself, 
gave the whole gift a personal sentiment that 
made it all the more dear in her e}^es. 

“How unjust I have been,” she whisj)ered. 
“All the while he was thinking of me so kindly. 
It was just little things like this that I missed 
his doing all the time, and now at the very last 
moment he is making up for it. I wonder 
what he thought of me when I sat there so 

169 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


silent and sulky. Now I know, too, what it 
was that he wanted to tell me about. But I’ll 
see him to-morrow morning and tell him how 
pleased I am and how I appreeiate his gift. 
Oh, it will be a very different farewell from 
what I had been thinking it might be a little 
while ago.” 

aU 

vfT 

Gray mists hung over the hills. The leaves 
of the trees and bushes and the blades of the 
grass were bent with the weight of dew. The 
windows and blinds were still closed in the vil- 
lage. A woodcutter with his ax over his 
shoulder was the one live figure on the strag- 
gling street. Up at the Baerens’ house, how- 
ever, August was hitching the horses to the 
light road-wagon. 

The family were at breakfast, hut no one 
was eating very much. They all seemed heavy 
of heart. Carola, perhaps, was the most dis- 
turbed. For now, in the cool, gray morning, 
it was hard to mention the flowers to Otto be- 
fore her parents. She wanted to say some- 
thing pleasant, something kind, but the words 
would not come. So she sat silent and trou- 
bled. Finally she consoled herself with the 

170 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


thought that she could whisper a few words to 
him as he went out. 

“You will need an overcoat, will you not, 
my dear?” said Mrs. Baerens to her husband. 
“It is cool and foggy and you have a cold as 

it IS. 

“I — a cold?” he asked in astonishment. 
Then, catching a meaning look from his wife 
he added, lamely, “Very well, if you think it 
better so. I’ll get my overcoat.” 

His wife got up and went after him. “We 
must leave them alone for a moment,” she said 
to him hastily at the door. “We must give 
them a chance to come to an understanding. 
Carola was silent and moody all last evening. 
It is not well for them to part like that.” 

Her husband looked at her impatiently. 
“Well, for that matter, if they have not ar- 
rived at an understanding yet, I hardly think 
they will in these few minutes.” 

“One can not tell. A moment is often de- 
cisive.” 

In the meantime the young people, too, had 
risen. Otto went over to his beloved, and tak- 
ing her hand said: “Carola, may I hope that 

the little souvenir that I got for you — ” 

“Oh, Otto!” she interrupted him. “You 

171 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


were thinking of me and putting yourself out 
for my sake yesterday! You are really too 
good to me. You can not think how — ” 

He did not let her go on. She had never 
before spoken to him so confidingly, she had 
never looked at him that way, and, overcome 
by his emotions, he drew her to him and kissed 
her on the forehead. She did not resist him. 

“Carola,” he said, in a trembling voice, “will 
you take this little ring and wear it as my 
sweet little bride-to-be?” 

He had taken her hand and she felt him slip- 
ping a ring on to her finger. She tried to 
answer, but her quivering lips formed no 
word. 

“Will you, my love?” he asked once more, 
and drew her toward him again. 

“Yes,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. 
He kissed the word from her lips, then he bent 
back to look into her eyes, which she kept 
downcast. When he tried to embrace her once 
more, however, she gently pushed him away. 

Her mother came back hastily just then. 
“It is time. You have not a moment to spare. 
Father is out in the wagon, and August said 
just now that the train goes a half hour earlier 
than it did last month. But,” she asked, not- 

172 


CAROLA’S LOVER STARTS NORTH 


ing Otto’s triumphant look and Carola’s em- 
barrassment, “what is the matter with you 
two?” 

Otto embraced her so suddenly and warmly 
that she could not speak for a moment. “Let 
Carola tell you, mother,” he whispered to her 
and hurried out. 

As he put his foot on the carriage block he 
looked back. Carola was standing on the 
porch and he ran back and threw his arms 
around her and kissed her once more. “Do 
not forget me,” he whispered, then he sprang 
into the wagon, the horses started up on the 
instant, and he was gone — gone for how 
long? 


173 


CHAPTER XI 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 

Antonie Timar was arranging the supper- 
table. The old servant had just brought in 
some fruit, which IVIiss Timar was now plac- 
ing in a cut-glass bowl. The servant watched 
her a few minutes and then glanced at the 
table, with its fine linen and exquisite china. 

“Who would have dreamed a few days ago 
that the table could be set for three again. 
How pretty everj^thing is to-day, Miss Timar, 
and I’am sure Mr. Paul must enjoy it after all 
the trouble and misery he had in India. He 
has grown pale and thin, too. Well, he de- 
serves a little punishment for all the tears he 
made you weep,” she added. 

“Do not talk of things which you do not 
understand,” said Antonie, rather sharply. 

“It’s worth while talking to her,” mumbled 
the old woman when she got outside the door. 
“He is a little god to her still; no matter what 
he does.” 


174 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


In the meantime Antonie was staring at the 
table with unseeing eyes. Her mind was far 
from the things her hands had arranged so 
daintily. It was less than eight days since 
Paul had come back. He seemed just the 
same to her. In a moment the years of part- 
ing were forgotten, blotted out, like an un- 
happy dream. And how much Paul had seen 
and experienced in the years that had dragged 
along so gray and hopeless for her! What 
changing scenes of woi'k and struggle, war 
and horror, and misery. But none of these 
were before her mind’s eye now. Three days 
ago Paul had gone to St. Hubert’s Lodge to 
visit the friends of his childhood, and, on the 
very same day, she had received a letter from 
Madame von Vilnau. 

“What will you say, my dear friend,” the 
letter had said in conclusion, “if I were to tell 
you that the little Carola seems to he engaged 
to be married, not publicly, as yet, to be sure. 
But Friederike, Baerens’ maid, saw the Pro- 
fessor from Berlin turn back and embrace 
Carola as he was leaving, so I suppose it must 
be true. He is a handsome and clever young 
man, with excellent prospects, and it is a very 
good match for the girl. Pauline insisted 

175 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


that they were in love with each other the even- 
ing that they spent with us. Pauline is so 
keen — don’t you think so?” 

She had read and reread the letter. And 
her boy was gone, with all his hopes and 
dreams, to see the girl whose memory had been 
like a guardian spirit to him! If he had but 
gone a day later, then she might have helped 
him, warned him, made it easier for him to 
bear his great disappointment. Her brother 
had gone after him in the morning to bring 
him back — that was some relief. She told 
herself in vain that it was really nothing but 
a long cherished dream which Paul would have 
to give up now, and that it was a blessing that 
he should know at once how things were. 

The bell rang. Could it possibly be that 
they were back so soon? She glanced at the 
clock. Yes, it was time. When she opened 
the door she heard Paul’s voice in the hall ask- 
ing for her. A weight seemed to lift itself 
from her heart as she noted the pleasant sound 
of his words. She hurried toward him with 
youthful eagerness. 

“My dear, good auntie,” he said, throwing 
his arms around her. “I am so happy to be 
with you once more.” 


176 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


George Timar, who looked on with a slight 
pang of jealousy, heard nothing hut joy and 
affection in Paul’s voice. But to Antonie 
there seemed to be a whole chapter of disap- 
pointment and weariness in it. Yet she tried 
to quiet her fears. He looked just as always, 
only a bit paler, now that she got a better view 
of his face. At table he told of his trip with- 
out showing a trace of excitement. 

“But,” said George, “he did not go over to 
see the Baerens! I supposed he still had a 
little warm spot in his heart for his old play- 
mate. They say, too, that she has grown to 
be a very nice-looking young woman.” 

“Oh, I am going back in a few days — one 
can not do everything at once. Isn’t that so, 
auntie?” and he looked at her beseechingly for 
a moment, “On this first trip I really had to 
give all my attention to the Vilnaus.” 

“And they appreciated it, too,” his uncle 
interrupted. “I could see that. They were 
just full of the stories he had been telling 
them. They were positively at home in Ber- 
hampore and Lucknow. They know much 
more than we do about the rebellion in India.” 
“Oh, yes, they do know more of some trick 
of the Sepoys, or some brave deed of Have- 

177 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


lock’s. Herr von Vilnau was a soldier him- 
self, and I remembered that and told them the 
things I thought would please them most. 
But to you, who are like dear parents to me, 

I talked of mvself.” 

•/ 

His uncle looked at him tenderly. “That 
is right, too. We have time enough to hear 
about the other things after we have heard 
about you. You might tell us a little this 
evening, if you are not too tired.” 

And Paul began to talk. He pictured the 
suddenness of the rebellion. With incredible 
swiftness it had spread through the regiments 
from Peshawur to Barraekpore, although 
these places were nearly two thousand miles 
apart. He related how many apparent trifles 
had fallen like sparks upon tinder and helped 
to spread the rebellion. He spoke of the hor- 
rors of the war, and of the heroism of Have- 
lock, the love of the English soldiers for their 
leader, his piety, and so on. His voice and 
manner had become animated, his eyes shone, 
and his unele and aunt listened forgetting all 
around them until the striking of the clock 
startled Antonie. 

“W e had better go to bed,” she said. 

“So early?” said her brother. His sister 

178 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


pointed to the clock for answer. It was past 
midnight. 

“Paul is tired. Just see how exhausted he 
looks.” 

In the hall above Paul lingered until his 
uncle had closed his bedroom door. 

“Auntie,” he called softly, then. 

She stopped at her room door and turned. 
In a moment he was beside her. “May I come 
in and talk to you for a little while longer?” 

For reply she took hold of his hand, and, 
placing her candle on the table, drew him 
down beside her on the broad couch on which 
she had sat hundreds of times thinking of him 
until late at night. He, however, slipped 
dowm on his knees in front of her, and buried 
his face in her lap. She did not say a word. 
She only stroked his hair as she used to do 
when he came to her with his childish troubles. 
At last she said, “Paul.” 

He raised his head and looked up at her. 

“Let me cry,” he said. “I shed tears, too, 
when I stood beside my poor uncle’s grave. 
When he died I was stunned. That is the 
way I f elt when they told me — you know what 
I mean?” 

“I know it,” she whispered, and the tears 

179 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


rolled down her own cheeks. “It was well 
that you learned about it before you met her 
again.” 

“Oh,” he exclaimed passionately, “why did 
I go away? Why did I leave her alone? 
Why did that unhappy war shut me off in 
this dreadful manner, so that I had no chance 
to send word to any of you? If I had but 
stayed here, things would never have hap- 
pened so.” 

A terrible pain passed through Antonie’s 
heart, and, in spite of herself, she sighed. 
Paul heard the sigh and paused in his pro- 
tests. 

“Dear, good auntie,” he said softly, “I am 
hardly hack again before I am causing you a 
new pain. But you may be calm. I have not 
lived through and suffered so much in vain. 
It has at least made a man of me, and I shall 
know how to conquer myself. But I just 
could not help it for the moment, alone here 
with you. It was foolish of me to think that 
she would remain true to me. She was noth- 
ing but a child when I left. When I see her 
again, not a word nor a look shall betray my 
feelings. But I must tell you all about it. I 
did see her, anyway.” 


180 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


She urged him to rise from his knees. 
“No,” he said, “I shall not get up until I have 
told you everything, and you have forgiven 
me for going to Rauheneck before I came 
here. 

“I did not intend to do so, surely not,” he 
went on, rapidly. “But the train was delayed 
just before we got to the last station on ac- 
count of a hot box, or something like that. 
Some of the passengers got out and walked 
to the next station. I did so, too. Ail of a 
sudden I saw the cross-roads’ sign that points 
the way to Rauheneck. The idea suddenly 
struck me to go through the woods to Lam- 
brecht, and take the evening train to JVIann- 
heim from that station. I didn’t tell you on 
which train to expect me, so nobody would be 
worried at my not coming. When once I got 
back into the shadow of the old trees, and 
breathed the air of the forest again, the long- 
ing to see the place and girl that had been in 
my mind for so long came over me. I was a 
good way in the forest before my thoughts be- 
gan to take definite form. To go to Rau- 
heneck meant to call on the Baerens, and I 
really could not do that before I had seen you 
or the Vilnaus. Still it was impossible to re- 

181 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


sist the delight of the thought of being near 
her, even if she didn’t see me, of stealing 
a look across the hedge into the old garden, 
and seeing the house in which she lives. 

“I gathered ferns and wild flowers without 
thinking that I could not well give them to 
her. When I got close to Rauheneck I sat 
down near a little cottage to eat some of the 
fruit I carried in my traveling-bag. A little 
girl crept out through the hedge and looked 
at me wistfully. I gave her a few dates and 
a small coin. Smiling with delight, she ran 
away, and, a few minutes later, a young wo- 
man looked across the hedge at me. She 
thanked me pleasantly, and otfered me some 
of her garden-flowers to add to my bouquet. 
I chose several half -open roses and some sprays 
of mignonette and white carnations. They 
looked very beautiful among my wild blooms 
and ferns, and I began to wonder if I could 
not manage in some way to get them to Carola. 
For a moment I thought to ask the young 
peasant woman to be my messenger, but I felt 
too embarrassed, really, to ask about the 
Baerens family. So I went on. I thought 
vaguely of throwing the bouquet over the 
hedge into the garden. I skirted the village 

182 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


in a wide circle, and arriving near the Baerens’ 
house, was about to approach the garden when 
I heard a man on the street asking somebody, 
who was probably a servant, whether the 
Baerens were at home. 

“ ‘The family are all away. Nobody will 
be at home until some time this evening.’ 

“The man went on. I looked all around — 
not a soul was to be seen. Carola’s window 
was open, and the old linden tree stretched its 
limbs close to the sill, just as it used to do. 
Almost before I had a clear thought I was 
up in the tree and climbing into the window. 
I trembled as if I were, indeed, a criminal. I 
did not dare to look about the room, but I 
took one of the enameled bowls that I was 
bringing home for you, and carrying in my 
handbag for safety, filled it with water and 
put the flowers in it. Then I swung myself 
out of the window and hurried back into the 
forest once more. I hardly stopped to draw 
my breath until I was a long way from Rau- 
heneck. It was getting dark when I heard 
voices near me. I stooped down and looked 
through the thicket, and there I saw her. 
Who was with her I can not say. Her 
parents, I believe, and some others. I paid 

183 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


no attention. Oh, auntie, she seemed to be 
just the same Carola as of old, and I was con- 
vinced that her heart was still the same. I 
wanted to rush forward and speak to her, hut 
the thought of frightening her kept me hack.” 
“Get up, Paul, please,” said his aunt once 
more. “Sit down beside me. I should have 
thought that you would find her much changed 
from the little twelve-year-old girl.” 

He shook his head. “Just as I saw her, she 
has always been bef ore my eyes. I, of course, 
supposed that she would grow tall and she has. 
But yet she seemed just the same. I believe I 
would not have noticed, either, if she had aged. 
She would always be the same to me.” 

His aunt smiled in spite of herself. “You 
think so now, when, as a matter of fact, 
Carola has grown to he far more beautiful 
than she was when you last saAV her.” 

“Haven’t you ever heard the tale of the 
Persian poet?” he answered, his eyes lighting 
up. “He sang of his beloved in such glowing 
words that the Shah asked to see the wonder- 
ful beauty who was able to inspire such poetic 
fervor. You can imagine how surprised and 
disappointed he was when the poet brought 
before him a faded, thin, and sallow woman, 

184 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


with dulled eyes. The poet, however, said, 
‘Oh, Shah, could you but see Leila with my 
eyes, you would prefer her to all the women 
of the world.’ You see, his eyes saw to the 
depths of her soul, and to him she always re- 
tained the beauty which constrained him to 
love her. And so it is with me. I have never 
thought about Carola’s looks. Whether she 
is beautiful or not I can hardly say even now. 
It is her whole being, her heart and soul, that 
attracted me and — always will.” 

“That must not be so any more,” said An- 
tonie, firmly. “Do you want to disturb her 
peace of mind and your own by giving way 
to such thoughts? A few minutes ago you 
seemed more manly and sensible.” 

“What did I say that was not in keeping 
with what I said a while ago? I am going to 
avoid her. I have done so already, but for 
one last time I had to talk of her.” 

“If it does you any good to talk, go on, my 
dear hoy.” 

And Paul talked on and did not wearv. 
She saw him again wandering across the fields 
and through the woods with the little girl he 
had loved so much, and remembered her own 
dreams at the sight. 


185 


THE HOME-COMING OF PAUL 


“When I was sick unto death of the fever 
I always seemed to hear her voice asking, ‘Are 
you better now, Paul?’ And it always seemed 
to me that I answered ‘Yes,’ for even the fever 
vision of her was a consolation to me. And 
now she has hurt me so.” 

He rose at the last words. “Good night, 
auntie,” he said, softly. “It is a happiness 
just to be back with you again.” 

“God bless you, dear child,” she answered 
with tears in her eyes. “Now try to sleep.” 

It was well that she said “try,” for long 
after he was still tossing in his bed, tired as he 
was, and she herself was no better. 

She had meant to tell him so much that 
should be encouraging and helpful, and, after 
all, she had done nothing but listen and let him 
go back over the dear scenes that must be but 
food to his grief now. She understood him, 
and felt that for one of his passionate, im- 
pulsive temperament it would be a long strug- 
gle to turn his back on the dream of his life. 
The longer she thought of it all, the more she 
feared the future. 


186 


CHAPTER XII 


PAUL AND CAROLA 

There was little talked of now at the 
Baerens’ house except Otto’s probable adven- 
tures. It seemed very quiet, indeed, since he 
had gone away. Mrs. Baerens, for her part, 
was delighted to think that the matter had 
come to such a satisfactory climax at the very 
last moment, and she congratulated herself on 
her management. Baerens himself had be- 
come reconciled to the idea of the engagement. 
The fact that Paul Timar had been at St. 
Hubert’s and gone back without coming to 
Rauheneck had contributed not a little to his 
increasing satisfaction. 

“It is strange,” he said to his wife, “that the 
lad did not even come over. I would have 
supposed him to have a more aff ectionate tem- 
perament. If I had known that he was at the 
Lodge I believe I could not have helped go- 
ing to see him there myself.” 

“Now you understand,” she answered. 

187 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


“That is youth for you. Did I not always 
say that it would be so? And how would it 
be now if Carola had waited for him? Just 
think how it all happened! He arrived the 
very evening before Otto’s departure.” 

“Does Carola know that he is here?” 

“I think she’ll find it out soon enough when 
she sees him. As it is, he will probably eall 
to see us shortly. If he has no inelination left 
to do so of himself, the Vilnaus would urge 
him to come. Did you hear how he got along 
out there, and what he looks like? What is 
he going to do now?” 

“I don’t know anything but what I have 
told you. One of Vilnau’s men met August 
in the forest. Isn’t it about time for us to 
get a letter from Otto?” 

“Us?” she repeated, teasingly. “Indeed, I 
think he will probably confine his letters to 
Carola after this. He wrote to us once as a 
matter of courtesy. That’s all we need look 
for, I think.” 

“Well, then, isn’t it about time for Carola 
to have a letter? I wonder where she is?” 
Just then Carola came running in. 

“Just think,” she said, “Otto has left Edin- 
burgh already. He sends his regards to both 

188 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


of you. He has had a lovely trip so far. I 
just met the mailman as I was coming into the 
house, and I stopped and glanced at the letter 
in the hall.” 

“And how many times will you have to read 
it, after you have glanced at it, before you will 
know everything that is in it?” her father 
teased. 

“And when will we hear something of its 
contents?” said her mother. 

“Oh, I just came in to read it to you,” pro- 
tested Carola, unfolding the letter. 

“Well?” said her mother, as Carola kept on 
devouring the pages with her eyes, and saying 
never a word. 

“I am just going to begin. There’s noth- 
ing particular in the introduction — just telling 
how often he thinks of Rauheneck, and all of 
us.” 

Then she read his account of the trip down 
the Rhine, their difficulties with the customs 
inspectors over their instruments and other 
belongings, the entrance to the Firth of Forth 
and the first sight of the Scottish Highlands 
and the islands dotting the Firth. He told, 
too, of Holyrood and of the chapel where 
Mary, the beautiful Queen of the Scots, was 

189 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


married to that weakling Darnley. Alto- 
gether, he concluded, his mind was crowded 
with so many impressions that he could not de- 
scribe them fitly in one letter. All this she 
read with evident pride and pleasure, but when 
she came to the postscript she was silent. It 
said that the Scotchmen who had joined the 
party at Edinburgh were extremely pleasant 
and interesting men. They had, however, 
planned for a much more extended journey 
than had the German members. Following 
their ideas it would take at least a year before 
the expedition could return. “My German 
friend is almost persuaded, and who knows,” 
added Otto, “if I were not thinking of you 
what I myself might do?” 

She did not trv to account to herself whv 
she did not read this postscript to her pai*ents. 
Nor did she read it again herself. His last 
words, that if he were not thinking of her who 
knows what he might do, hurt and annoyed 
her. It seemed like a bid for freedom to her. 
To quiet these annojdng thoughts she took out 
the bouquet which she had found on the eve 
of his departure, and looked at it, picturing to 
herself his tenderness in getting the flowers 
for her. She had carefully pressed them, and 

190 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


they were a dearer souvenir to her than the 
costly solitaire which she rarely wore, for fear 
of losing it. 

When she sat down to answer Otto’s letter 
she could not make up her mind what to say 
to his postscript. She remembered how he 
had said that if she said a word he would not 
go at all. How that had pleased and flattered 
her! But somehow, this seemed so different. 
“He need not feel that he is tied to me,” she 
thought defiantly. “If he likes to stay away, 
I shall manage to get along somehow.” 

So following a sudden impulse, she wrote on 
the margin of her letter as a postscript of her 
own: “Wh}^ should you not join the Scotch- 

men if you care to? Stay as long as you think 
it necessary and And it pleasant to stay.” 
When the letter had gone she had a pang of 
regret. If he really should stay away a whole 
year longer now than he had intended ! 
Would it not have been better to write, “Let 
the Scotchmen go where they will, buf you 
come back as soon as you can to me.” 

“Well, if he is yearning to see me again, 
he’ll come back, anyway,” she consoled herself. 
She looked at the flowers again and smiled 
happily. Down in the bottom of her heart 

191 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


there was the conviction that Otto would not 
go on the longer expedition, but would come 
back at Christmas, as he had promised. 

She was startled out of her imaginings by 
cries of astonishment and welcome. There 
must be some unusual visitors. The voices 
seemed most familiar and yet, for the moment, 
she could not place them. While she was 
standing listening the door opened and Fried- 
erike came in, hurriedly, without knocking. 

“Miss Carola, Miss Carola,” she gasped, out 
of breath, “just think who is downstairs! But 
do not tell on me. You are to be surprised.” 

“I? Surprised? Could it possibly be that 
Otto — ^but no, that it impossible. Who is it? 
Do tell me,” she urged. 

“Two young gentlemen. But I must not 
tell you any more. You are to be surprised.” 

“But, Friederike — ” 

“Well, then, I really must tell you, miss. 
Just think, it is Paul, Paul Timar himself! 
And he looks just as he used to look. I knew 
him at once. But now don’t forget to look 
surprised when you get downstairs.” Then 
she hurried away. 

Paul, Paul — Paul Timar — could it be pos- 
sible? Paul here again! Tier brother, her 

192 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


comrade! He who was thought lost, dead! 
She could hardly grasp it, hardly believe it. 
She had forgotten that somebody else had come 
with him, and that there was a second young 
man. She ran down stairs to confirm the news 
with her own eyes. Halfway down, however, 
she suddenly stood still. Perhaps he was 
changed. Perhaps he would meet her now as 
a stranger might? She must not run down in 
such wild excitement. She would have to w^ait 
a little, and see how he acted. 

As is usual, how'ever, when we have pre- 
pared ourselves for an occasion, the scene de- 
velops very differently from wdiat w'e had ex- 
pected. When she opened the door, instead 
of Paul, she saw Charles Fernau, who greeted 
her pleasantly, though somewhat shyly. 

“It seems to be my mission to escort friends 
to your house,” he began. “This time, too, I 
am bringing some one to see you,” 

“And we ourselves have no attraction for 
you?” retorted Carola, laughingly. Her self- 
possession had come back to her while he was 
talking. “Perhaps the woods and hills will 
throw their spell over you some time, too. It 
is beautiful here, at times, I assure you.” 
Carola was thinking of Ottilie, who had prom- 

193 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


ised to visit her soon. But Charles thought 
that she alluded to Otto, and he could not sup- 
press a pang of envy. 

“If she would only not be so entrancingly 
pleasant,” he sighed, and almost forgot the 
main thing — ^to present Paul, whose slight and 
slender figure was fairly hidden behind Bae- 
rens all this time. Carola’s eyes were glanc- 
ing eagerly about the room, however, and that 
brought him back to immediate things. 

“This time I brought somebody with me 
whom you are sure to remember, I think.” 

“And it is Mr. Paul Timar, who can not 
quite hide behind father, no matter how he 
tries,” interrupted Carola. Paul stepped for- 
ward, and silently held out his hand to her. 
But if his lips said nothing, his eyes were the 
more eloquent. Carola dropped her own at 
once, with a feeling of embarrassment almost 
amounting to guilt. 

“But, Carola,” remarked her mother, “you 
do not seem to be surprised, and we did not 
tell you a word about Paul’s return. We 
thought you would be speechless with aston- 
ishment !” 

“You knew that I was here, did you not, 
Carola?” and he looked at her meaningly. 

194 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


She could only nod her head. Her heart 
seemed to be choking her breath away by its 
wild beating. 

“How is that? You surely could not recog- 
nize Paul’s voice up in your room after all this 
time?” questioned her father. 

“Perhaps she saw us coming down the forest 
path,” said F ernau, noting her embarrassment. 

She shook her head. 

“Or perhaps she knew, too, and wanted to 
surprise us, as we did her?” 

“None of all these things,” said Carola. 
Then, turning to Paul: “You see how I am 

being cross-examined on your account. And 
yet, to tell the truth, I can only say that a lit- 
tle bird flew into my room and told me.” 

She saw the sudden light in Paul’s eyes — 
it was the same expression she knew of old 
when they two had planned some surprise for 
their elders and it had succeeded. She won- 
dered whether he had guessed that Friederike 
had told her in spite of the injunctions laid 
upon her. 

The conversation soon became very ani- 
mated. There was so much to talk about. 
Paul’s adventures and sulferings, his relatives, 
and their delight over his home-coming. Bae- 

195 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


rens was just about to reproach him for not 
visiting them sooner when the sound of wheels 
in the courtyard was heard, accompanied hy 
the barking of dogs. 

“That is the Vilnaus,” said Mrs. Baerens. 
“I know their dogs.” 

They hurried down to welcome them. Each 
one of the little party, excepting Paul, per- 
haps, had a special reason to be thankful for 
the presence of the newcomers. Carola’s 
parents were pleased that Paul and their 
daughter should see each other for the first 
time chiefly in the company of others, so that 
the tendency to drift into the old familiar waj^s 
might be curbed at the very beginning. They 
could see for themselves that Paul still had the 
same pleasant and almost affectionate manner. 
As for Carola, she seemed to have dropped 
into the old manner unconsciously. 

Fernau was glad to have others present, be- 
cause it gave him a chance to keep away from 
Carola. It had been hard enough for him to 
make up his mind to come at ail. But he could 
not refuse Miss Timar’s request, especially 
when she seemed to put so much weight on his 
going with Paul, although she hinted hut 

196 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


vaguely at the reason why. Carola herself 
was glad that the Vilnaus had come, because 
they were so interwoven with her memories and 
thoughts of Paul that it was easier to rid her- 
self in their presence of the feeling of embar- 
rassment and guilt that had come over her. 
She was glad, too, that Fernau was to meet 
the Vilnaus. She had told them so much of 
him. And then, when the Vilnaus came on a 
visit, Father Keller was always sent for, and 
so Charles would have a chance to meet Ot- 
tilie’s uncle. Paul, however, grew somewhat 
distrait, answered absently, and kept watching 
the door until Carola came back to ask the 
guests to have coffee. Paul was urged to tell 
of himself, but he managed to turn the con- 
versation into more general channels, protest- 
ing that few of his experiences were of the 
kind that made pleasant table-talk. Father 
Keller had been drawn into an animated con- 
versation with Fernau and Pauline, and the 
Baerens and the Vilnaus themselves were ab- 
sorbed in neighborhood talk, when Paul asked 
Carola to show him her music. She gave him 
some of her newest things to look over. As 
he leaned against the piano and turned the 

197 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


pages, he half-whispered, “Carola, how differ- 
ent our meeting is from what I pictured it 
would be when I went away.” 

She did not answer. To what did he refer— 
his misfortunes in India, or to the message 
he had sent her when he left? — ^the message 
that seemed to he burning into her very soul 
now. Was it possible that he knew all about 
Otto — and could it be that Paul had remained 
so altogether true to her memory all these 
years ? 

He turned several pages and then he looked 
at her as if he expected an answer. That in- 
creased her confusion. 

“You lost a great deal — in India,” she stam- 
mered at last. 

“And a great deal more here,” he added, 
with a look which it was impossible to misun- 
derstand. Just then her mother came toward 
them and paused a moment. 

“You had not thought,” Paul went on in a 
more indifferent manner, looking at Mrs. 
Baerens, “that I would have changed so little 
in all this time?” 

“We were just talking about that,” Mrs. 
Baerens put in. “What surprises me most is 

198 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


that you are not tanned at all. I imagined 
that you would be brown as a eotF ee bean,” and 
she passed on. 

“What a distinguished place you have given 
this howl,” said Paul, turning to Carola again, 
and putting his hand on the enameled bronze 
vase on the corner of the piano. 

“Its clear, brilliant colors look so well 
against the dark wood,” she replied, “and what 
is more — ” she hesitated. 

“What is more?” he repeated, urgingly. 

“Well, I like to look at it when I am sing- 
mg. 

“Really?” and he gave her a queer look, 
while his pale face flushed. “Is it possible 
that the little thing here has some special worth 
in your eyes?” 

She noticed his excitement and thought she 
understood its cause. “How could it be other- 
wise, when it is the gift of a dear friend?” she 
replied, seriously. 

“Carola, you are neglecting our guests,” her 
mother said. The girl turned away quickly, 
but not too quickly to see the sudden change 
of color in Paul’s f ace. She had pained him — 
and yet did she not owe it to Otto, and even 

199 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


more to Paul himself, to leave no doubt in his 
mind as to what their future relations must 
he? 

Mrs. Baerens looked sharply at her daugh- 
ter: “Father Keller has something to tell you 

about Ottilie, and do not forget the messages 
you were going to give Mr. Fernau for her.” 
Thus fairly forced to sit down between the 
priest and the sculptor, she was safely away 
from Paul for a while at least, and under her 
mother’s eyes. Paul himself sat down at the 
piano and began to play, softly, dreamily, 
without seeming to intrude his music on the 
others. 

“I am so glad that Ottilie is coming to visit 
us soon,” said Carola, turning to F ernau, after 
she had listened to Father Keller for a while. 
“When did you last see her?” 

“Mr. Timar and I met her last evening.” 
“And you did not tell her that you were 
coming out here to-day?” Carola looked at 
him in such blank astonishment that Charles 
reddened with embarrassment. 

He had no idea how Carola and one other 
person interpreted this embarrassment. “If 
I had not been afraid of seeming bold, I 
should have asked Miss Kampe if she had some 

200 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


message of which we could be the bearers,” 
he half-stammered in defense. 

“It is really remarkable, how very shy he 
is,” thought Carola. “And such a man as he 
is, too. So interesting, so able! A man 
whom one really must admire. Modesty is 
becoming, hut — ” for a moment Otto’s as- 
sured manner came to her mind, “after all, 
maybe Ottilie is to be envied.” 

“How could you have any such scruples,” 
she said aloud, “after the Kampes have been 
so pleasant to you, too. I am almost afraid 
to send any message to her through )^ou under 
the circumstances. I am sure Father Keller 
would have been glad to make you the bearer 
of a word or two to his niece. I suppose he, 
too, will have to deny himself that pleasure.” 
“I believe you are going to punish me,” 
said Fernau, without looking at her. “You 
know that it is a delight to me to serve you in 
any way.” 

In the meantime Paul’s playing had become 
more insistent, and involuntarily they stopped 
talking and listened to him. 

“What is it that he comes back to over and 
over again?” asked Pauline. “It seems to me 
I have heard it before. I believe it is a sons’.” 

201 


PAUL AND CAROL A 


“That is possible,” said Paul, playing on. 
“You are not a bit nice now, Paul,” pro- 
tested Pauline. “Tell me what it is.” 

“I’ll sing it for you some time.” 

“Oh, sing it now,” said Baerens. “We 
have listened with such delight to your varia- 
tions on it. Surely you will not deny us the 
pleasure of the song itself?” 

Mrs. Baerens, feeling that she had perhaps 
been slighting Paul a little, urged him, too. 

Paul turned around slowly and looked at 
Carola. “If they really insisted,” he said, 
with his eyes fixed on her, “but it was English, 
one of Moore’s.” 

“Oh,” said Carola, “I like him so.” 

That seemed to settle his last hesitation, and 
protesting that they must remember that he 
had not been singing since his uncle died, he 
played a few chords and then began: 

“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms. 
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day. 

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms. 
Like fairy gifts fading away. 

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this' moment thou art. 
Let thy loveliness fade as it will. 

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart 
Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

202 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


“It is not while beauty and youth are thine own^ 

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear. 

That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, 
To which time will but make thee more dear; 

No; the heart that has truly loved never forgets. 
But as truly loves on to the close. 

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets. 

The same look which she turned when he rose/’ 

There was something caressing in Paul’s 
voice as it was, but the song itself seemed to 
Carola to be addressed to her alone, and every 
word seemed an endearment and a reproacli. 
When Paul had finished she felt as if everv- 
body in the room must see in her face the ex- 
citement that filled her heart. The spell that 
had come upon her was not broken until she 
heard Paul quietly telling Madame von Vilnau 
that he had learned the song from a young 
Irishman who was his traveling companion 
when he was on his way to India. 

“A long time since,” he added wistfully. 

He sat down then, between Pauline and her 
mother, and apparently paid no more attention 
to Carola. It was getting late and the Vil- 
naus insisted that thej?' must go very soon. 
There was a little controversy at once as to 
where the young men should spend the night. 

203 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


Madame von Vilnau said that they had taken 
it f or granted that the young men would drive 
back to the Lodge with them. Mr. Baerens 
thought that was not fair. 

Then Father Keller interrupted: “If I am 

given a chance to say a word, I think I can 
settle the matter, and I am sure you will none 
of you deny me a pleasure that is but rarely 
granted me. The two young gentlemen have 
promised to go home with me this evening.” 

“Now I call that being outwitted with a ven- 
geance,” said Baerens. “You have quietly 
gotten ahead of us all. I would not have sus- 
pected an old friend like you of such a thing,” 
he wound up with a laugh. 

As Chaides walked along the quiet village 
street with his friend he was secretlv thankful 
that the old priest, consciously or uncon- 
sciously, had taken both Paul and himself 
away from the influence of a fascination dan- 
gerous to both of them. He tried to put 
Carola out of his mind, but over and over 
again her face rose before him and her eyes 
smiled into his. 

Paul, on his part, had not a single clear 
thought. One idea, and one surmise followed 
the other, punctuated every once in a while by 

. 204 


PAUL AND CAROLA 


the words she had said to him so earnestly: 
“How could it be otherwise, when it is the gift 
of a dear friend.” 

“A dear friend,” and that “dear friend” 
was none other than he himself! 

The only one of the group who walked along 
happily content was Father Keller. If this 
young man, this Fernau, had indeed, as they 
said, become interested in Ottilie, the child 
whose possible future had given him so much 
concern, he could be calm and Ottilie was in- 
deed blessed — this much he had speedily con- 
cluded. 

Oh, faint of heart and weak of faith that we 
are! If we would but take our burdens to 
the Lord how much better it would he for us, 
for He is ever the Father who watches lovingly 
over the fate of His children. 

The moon was clear and high in the sky, and 
one pair of young eyes still looked down the 
village street long after Father Keller and his 
guests had gone. Over and over the music 
and the song rang in her ears and set her 
thoughts surging through her brain. At last 
she knelt down by the open window and f olded 
her hands and prayed long and earnestly. 
Then she, too, went to bed and slept the sleep 
of healthy youth. 


205 


CHAPTER XIII 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 

Autumn had come. The forest glowed 
and flamed in red and amber, and the feet of 
the young girls sank into the crackling leaves 
as they walked along the path that led to 
Lambrecht. When they reached the clearing 
where Charles had stopped to sketch on that 
memorable day when Otto and he flrst came to 
Rauheneck, Carola said: “Let us sit down 

here and wait for the wagon.” 

“What a beautiful spot,” said Ottilie, look- 
ing toward the old ruin. “The place never 
loses its charm for me, no matter how often 
I come. I could spend hours here.” 

“Ask Mr. Eernau some time whether he ever 
finished the sketch he commenced that first dav 

ft/ 

he was here. Did he ever tell vou about it?” 

•/ 

Ottilie shook her head. 

Carola was wondering what she should say 
next, for Ottilie looked much depressed. 

“I know what you are thinking,” she went 

206 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


on, presently. “You are sad because he did 
not come .while you were here. I really 
thought he would come, especially as Father 
Keller was so pleasant to him and invited him, 
too. But I know now why he did not.” 

In spite of Ottilie’s determination to put no 
value on Carola’s excuses for Charles, her face 
lit up and she looked expectantly at her friend. 

“I really should like to know what you have 
to say for him this time. But I do not think 
that it will count very much, because I feel 
sure that he does not care for me.” 

“Well, listen to what I have to tell you any- 
way. You must not mind if I talk of some 
other people besides Charles while I am ex- 
plaining. Y ou know we have always told each 
other everything, and been perfectly frank 
with each other. Let us keep on being so.” 
Ottilie was about to make some answer, but 
Carola went on quickly: “I know you did 

not think it was quite right for me to talk so 
much about Paul Timar, and therefore there 
were some things I did not tell you. You 
seemed to think that it was not fair to Otto 
for me to take so much interest in Paul. But 
you know what good friends Paul and I were 
when we were children, and I am sure I can 

207 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


not help being otherwise than sorry when I 
see that he is unhappy on my account. To 
feel that I must not let him see my sympathy 
makes it all the harder. I have been very re- 

4 / 

served and distant with him, you may he sure 
of that.” 

“But he does not seem to he very distant. 
At least not according to the way you say he 
acted at your first meeting.” 

“Poor Paul — now you, too, insist on misun- 
derstanding him. He probably heard some 
talk over at Vilnaus’, and wanted to be quite 
sure that it was true before he believed it. 
You could not blame him for that. Since 
then he has only visited us very formally, in 
company with the Vilnaus. But now listen to 
this. When we were at St. Hubert’s Lodge 
yesterday Pauline told me that Paul had been 
there with his aunt, and Miss Timar had been 
telling her about him. She told her, too, what 
a comfort Charles Fernau Avas to them all. 
She had always thought of him as an excellent 
young man, but not until Paul came back did 
she realize how considerate and sympathetic he 
is. She had finally told him everything, and 
asked him to try to divert Paul, and keep him 
from going to Bauheneck any oftener than 

208 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


could possibly be helped. You see, then, if 
Charles had come to Rauheneek, Paul would 
probably have come with him.” Carola 
stopped for a moment, and then, putting her 
arm around Ottilie’s shoulder, she whispei’ed: 
“Is your friend excused?” 

“My friend! Ah, I wish I could really call 
him that,” and she bent her lovely head low, 
her eyes on the heather at her f eet. 

“I am sure that you can, and that you will 
soon be as convinced of it as I am now,” said 
Carola, encouragingly. 

Ottilie looked up at her friend. If Charles 
could have seen her just then he would not 
have thought her haughty and reserved. A 
deep flush spread over her face and her ej^es 
softened. Then she dropped them quickly, 
as if ashamed of her self -revelation even be- 
fore her friend. 

“What did Miss Timar say about Paul? 
Do tell me all about it?” Now that her own 
heart had a hit of encouragement she grew 
more kindly toward all the world, and began 
to feel sympathy for Paul. 

“I really wonder,” Carola answered, “why 
Pauline told me so much. Perhaps she wanted 
to know for certain that I am engaged to 

209 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


Otto. I did tell her all about it, too. Oh, 
Ottilie, I hope Otto will not stay away very 
much longer. Everything would be so dif- 
ferent if he were but here.” 

“I am sure I do not know,” replied Ottilie, 
doubtfully. “If I were engaged to Eernau, 
I would be sorry if he had to go away, but it 
could not make any difference as to what I 
thought of other people.” 

“Yes, if he had to go away. But Otto does 
not have to go. He is just traveling because 
he likes it.” 

“Because he likes his life-Avork and wants 
to use every chance he has to help along his 
understanding of it. There is a great differ- 
ence between that and mere idle pleasure- 
traveling, my dear Carola.” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Carola, shamefacedly. 
“I hope I’ll hear from him soon. It is too bad 
that we can write each other so rarely.” 

“But you were going to tell me about Paul- 
ine. It was well that you told her all. You 
can depend on her not to speak of your confi- 
dences except to a good purpose.” 

“She promised me that she would not. If 
she does tell Paul, so much the better. He 
will understand clearly then just what our re- 

210 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


lations must be hereafter, and I shall be free 
to treat him in the old friendly way. When 
Otto comes back they may be very good 
friends, who knows!” 

. “I do not understand Paul after all,” said 
Ottilie, after a silence. “He ought to see for 
himself that he can not be compared to Pro- 
fessor Rudolphi. For that reason, if for no 
other, he ought to stand back.” 

“Can not be compared to Otto? Why, you 
never even met Paul. Passed him on the 
.street once or twice, isn’t that all?” 

“I hardly know Otto, either, and I do not 
mean to judge between the characters of the 
two. I was only thinking of their positions. 
Otto has a good start, and will soon win a name 
for himself. And what can Paul offer a 
girl?” 

“Ottilie,” cried Carola, indignantly. “I 
hope you do not think that I would consider 
such things?” 

“Oh, I know that you would go to Iceland 
to live, if your beloved wanted you to. In- 
deed, I would have no respect for you myself 
if you could prefer a man for whom you did 
not care to one for whom you did because one 
had a better position in the world than the 

211 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


other. But, on the other hand, you must ad- 
mit that it is very rash and thoughtless in a 
man to want to marry a girl before he has 
found some reasonably certain way of making 
a living. Would you call it true love to do 
so, Carola?” 

“If you mean Paul — ^but really what good 
is there in talking about these things? Yet, 
if I were still free to consider Paul, I do not 
think he would be quite so unworthy of consid- 
eration as you seem to think. He has opened 
a place of his own and is going to handle 
English and East Indian goods. He must 
have saved a little of his uncle’s money, and I 
suppose he has gained some business ex- 
perience. I think he will get along.” 

“I certainly hope that he will, and I am very 
glad that you told Pauline everything. For 
him at least it seems best that he should not 
have the least doubt as to what his prospects 
in regard to you are. Here is the wagon.” 
The two girls rose, and went toward the ve- 
hicle which was creeping along very comfort- 
ably. The driver, seeing them, stopped the 
horse, and iSIr. Baerens and Father Keller 
shook their fingers at the girls. 

“It’s time that you show yourselves,” said 

212 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


Baerens. “Here we are twisting our heads 
otF, looking for you everywhere. We have 
no time to spare now, children.” 

His eyes lingered admiringly on the “chil- 
dren” as he helped them to their seats. The 
“children” themselves were unusually quiet. 
At last he asked them if it were possible that 
two girls had really reached the limit of their 
talking capacity. 

“All partings are a little depressing,” 
pleaded Father Keller in their behalf. He 
looked hard at his niece, however. But her 
eyes were brighter and pleasanter than they 
had been f or several days. As they were wait- 
ing on the platform of the station Ottilie 
found a chance to whisper to her uncle: “He 

could not come, uncle. I iust found out 
whv.” 

He nodded in quick understanding. But 
Avhen he shook her hand through the car win- 
dow in parting, she found he had pressed a 
little note into her palm. She looked at him 
in astonishment, but before she could ask a 
question he had turned away, and the train 
was pulling out toward Mannheim and the 
house of her parents. 

There were but few thoughts in Ottilie’s 

213 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


heart of her parental house. They were with 
the one person who seemed to be shutting up 
all of happiness that could come to her within 
himself. She wondered whether he would find 
out on which train she was coming back — 
whether he would possibly come to the sta- 
tion — but, no, he would not do that. 

And he of whom she was thinking was work- 
ing away in his studio the while. Every now 
and then he stopped and looked at the hand 
that was taking form under his chisel, with a 
feeling of mingled satisfaction and sadness. 
He was finishing his monument, and Carola’s 
hand was in his mind as he worked. 

The lady sitting beside her got out at the 
next station and then Ottilie unfolded her un- 
cle’s note. It said: 

“My child, say in everything — ‘Lord, if it 
is pleasing to Thee, so let it be done. 

“ ‘Lord, if it be for Thy glory, let this be 
done in Thy name. 

“ ‘Lord, if it seem expedient to Thee, and 
receives Thy approval, then grant me this that 
I may employ it to Thy glory. 

“ ‘But if Thou knowest that it will be hurt- 
ful to me, and not profitable to the salvation 
of my soul, take away from me this desire 

214 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


which I have.’ ” — Thomas d Kempis, Book 3, 
Chap. XV. 

vX/ ^ ^ 

Carola sat alone in the waiting-room at the 
little station. Her father was outside, talking 
to one of his men, and Father Keller was 
walking up and down the platform looking at 
the scenery. The waitress, who knew her to 
be the forester’s daughter, had just brought 
her a glass of lemonade. Carola’s pleasant 
manner encouraged the girl to linger a mo- 
ment, and presently she asked who the beauti- 
ful young lady was that they had just parted 
from. 

“I saw her, too, when she came,” said the 
girl. “At that time the Reverend Father 
himself called for her. A couple of gentle- 
men who were waiting here looked after her 
as though they wished they might have the 
pleasure themselves. I heard one of them say, 
T wouldn’t have the courage to say much to 
her. She looks as if she were, at least, a 
countess.’ I must say, miss, that I felt the 
same way, and then I remembered something 
that I wanted to ask you about, if you don’t 
think it too bold of me,” and she looked down 
with studied embarrassment. 

215 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


“Oh,” said Carola, “I do not suppose it is 
as bad as all that.” 

“Well, that depends on how you take it. 
You will think it queer at least. I should 
like to know that young lady’s first name — 
only her first name.” 

“Her name is Ottilie,” said Carola, slightly 
amused. 

“Ottilie?” said the girl, after reflecting a 
few moments. “It isn’t she, then.” 

Carola looked at her expectantly, but said 
nothing, for she did not want to give the girl 
the impression that she was curious. The 
waitress, however, was quick to note the effect 
of her words, and so went on: “Have you 

ever heard the name, ‘Kampaspe?’ ” 

“To be sure I have,” Carola responded 
quickly, and then she added, more soberly: 
“It is a very unusual name, however.” 

“I believe that,” said the girl. “I was sure 
I had never heard it anywhere. Early last 
summer there was a gentleman here one day, 
w'ho wrote that name on the window-pane — 
but, miss,” the girl interrupted herself, noting 
Carola’s queer expression, “perhaps that is 
your own name?” 


216 


DOUBTS AND MISGIVINGS 


“No,” she said, smiling swiftly. “What 
did the gentleman look like?” 

“Perhaps you know him, for he came from 
Rauheneck when he returned. As he was go- 
ing, there was another gentleman with him who 
was much better-looking but not nearly so 
kind and pleasant, not nearly.” 

“Is that so?” said Carola, with a numb feel- 
ing creeping about her heart. 

The girl had been started and delighted by 
Carola’s attention; she went on: “He cut me 

off in such a proud, quick way, you just ought 
to have heard him. I never saw him again. 
He did not come back with the other gentle- 
man. He must have gone on f arther.” 

Carola hardly beard what else she said. 
“Such a proud, quick way,” kept going 
through her mind, over and over again. She 
told herself that she was foolish to pay so much 
attention to the chance gossip heard in a public 
place like this. She had had no business to 
listen to the girl at all. Nevertheless she could 
not shake off her unhappy feeling. All the 
fears and doubts that had beset her when Otto 
first sought her hand came back to distress and 
confuse her now. 


217 


CHAPTER XIV 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 

A LETTER which camc from Otto soon after 
tended but to confirm her misgivings. It was 
very brief, and closed saying: 

“Much as I regret it, you will have to spend 
Christmas without me this year. Console 
yourself with the thought that we will have 
many other Christmases together in the years 
to eome, but the ehance that I have now will 
be lost to me forever if I do not take it at 
once. Eorgive my not writing more. I made 
a mistake about the time of the next mail and 
the messenger is waiting. As soon as possible 
I shall write again. Your Otto.” 

She did not complain to her parents about 
this prolongation of Otto’s journey, of which 
he told her in such an offhand way. She her- 
self had written him to stay as long as he found 
it necessary, or pleasant. How could she 
complain! But she became silent and moody, 
and one day her mother found her in tears. 

218 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


“What is the matter, child,” she asked, 
alarmed. “I have noticed that something was 
wrong lately. Why do you not tell me? 
Have you no confidence in your mother? 
Why are you crying?” 

Carola tried to control herself, but when 
she felt her mother’s arms around her all the 
suppressed grief broke forth and, weeping bit- 
terly, she laid her head on her mother’s shoul- 
der. 

For a few moments her mother said nothing. 
They were standing at the window, just where 
Mrs. Baerens had stood and watched Otto and 
Charles starting out for their walk through 
the forest. How bright and joyous all the 
world had seemed then. Now the trees 
stretched their hare branches against the sky 
and gray clouds hung heavily ovei’head and 
shut out the sun. 

It had pained her, too, that Otto was going 
to continue his journey, but more even than 
the fact itself the manner of his saying it 
hurt her. For the first time she understood 
Carola’s sensitiveness to Otto’s cool assurance; 
f or the first time she appreciated what her hus- 
band had said about the young man’s crudity 
and lack of development. But when she went 

219 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


to her husband, saying as much, she got little 
consolation. 

“These things were to be expected, and 
therefore I would have much preferred if 
everything had remained as it was until he 
came back,” Baerens said bruskly. “But you 
could not let matters be, nor give me any 
peace. They had to have a definite arrange- 
ment, a last, deciding chance to come to an 
understanding.” Then he softened a little and 
added: “After all, Charlotte, these things 

are trifles, and we must not think too much of 
them. Carola is too young to marry as it is, 
and it is better for Otto to be about his bus- 
iness. It is to his credit that he takes his pro- 
fession so seriously, and tries to improve his 
opportunities in every way possible. His 
work and his achievements will be to her benefit 
in the end, as well as to his. As for the mat- 
ter of writing so little about his plans, what 
shall he say? I suppose he thinks she is sensi- 
ble enough to consider that he has good reasons 
for what he does. People do not climb around 
on the ice for fun.” 

After that she let the matter rest as far as 
her husband was concerned. To her daughter 
she said consolingly: “You really take things 

220 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 

too hard, dear. Otto will soon write you 
more — ” 

“Oh, he did write me a good deal, but I felt 
sure that he would come back. His friend 
who joined him at Bonn and the Englishmen 
of the party are going to be at home for 
Christmas.” 

“Do you really want to see him so much? 
Just think — a year will pass quickly, and then 
he will come back and stay with you all the 
time.” 

Mrs. Baerens said this very cheerfully, al- 
most happily. Certain vague fears as to the 
real cause of Carola’s depression had haunted 
her lately, and when she saw her sighing thus 
for Otto’s return, she felt that all was reallj^ 
well. 

But women are curious beings. The very 
thing that seemed to calm the mother’s fears, 
stung Carola’s maiden pride. “You are right, 
mother,” she said. “It is foolish of me to 
worry like this about him, while he does not 
seem to mind staying away. I’ll not cry any 
more, nor be so anxious about what he writes.” 

Mrs. Baerens had an impulse to write to 
Otto and tell him how Carola was pining un- 
der his seeming neglect and get him to write 

221 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


to her more fully about his plans and their 
object. She had no idea that somebody else 
had already done so. 

A few days after Ottilie had returned to 
the city Carola received a letter from her. 
“Father invited Mr. Fernau to dinner,” she 
wrote. “He is very fond of the young man, 
but mother somehow does not care very much 
for him. He is not showy enough to attract 
her. That is her weak point, you know. But 
do you really think that he cares for me? I 
always have to bring back to my mind the 
things you have told me, for, really, he never 
shows the least sign himself of any special 
interest in me. To be sure he is not used to 
the company of women. But that very thing 
seems to make me like him the better. He is 
not always exhausting one’s patience with 
empty compliments and small talk. Yet it 
seems to me a word or look ought to betray his 
feeling once in a while. I know you will think 
that I am foolish, Carola, and I am truly go- 
ing to stop writing about him, unless some- 
thing extraordinary happens.” 

Carola did not answer this letter at once, 
though she was burning to write Ottilie about 
her talk with the waitress at the station. 

222 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


Nevertheless she kept putting off writing from 
day to day, however, thinking that she would 
have another letter from Otto and more cheer- 
ful news. When it did not come, she wrote 
to Ottilie at last, a letter that was full of hope 
for her friend, but betrayed her own depression 
more than she meant to have it do. 

Ottilie was still holding the letter in her 
hand and thinking of it, when her father came 
in, bringing F ernau with him. Her heart was 
in a flutter of delight at what Carola had just 
written her about Fernau, and, under the ex- 
altation of her momentary relief from the 
nagging uncertainty of his feelings toward 
her, she was far more pleasant and communi- 
cative than she had ever before been. When 
her father left the parlor for a few moments, 
she managed to ask Charles what his latest 
news was from Otto. And thus started she 
poured out all her anxieties for Carola, telling 
Charles that she did not think that Otto really 
appreciated her, and also how undecided 
Carola had been up to the very last as to her 
real feelings for his friend. 

Fernau brightened up at once, and became 
talkative and intimate as never before. He 
thanked her for her confldence, and, when he 

223 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


rose to go, he held out his hand toward her and 
clasped hers warmly for the first time in his 
life. 

Did he see the telltale brightening of her 
eyes ? For a moment the memory of the 
painting of the beautiful Countess, the Kam- 
paspe of Mannheim Castle came back to his 
mind, and how the statuesque face before him 
with its crown of blond hair had haunted him 
at the time. Haunted him for a day, to be 

the dark eyes and sweet smile 
of another, who was not free to listen to his 
wooing. He could hardly bear even to listen 
to Paul Timar’s constant talk of her. She 
belonged to his faraway friend, and he had to 
be loyal — loyal for all of them. 

That very evening he wrote a long letter to 
Otto, and then he counted the weeks and the 

davs before he could have an answer. He 

•/ 

was anxious to know how Otto would take his 
frankness. When at last he came home one 
evening and found a letter postmarked “Reyk- 
javik,” he locked the door so as to be undis- 
turbed. 

He felt a little tremor of hesitation as he 
unfolded the letter and looked at the closelv 
written pages. What if he had but made Otto 

224 


crowded out by 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


wrathy, without doing any good to Carola! 

Otto began by thanking Charles for his let- 
ter and telling him that he reeeived it simul- 
taneously with a letter from Carola and one 
from his parents — a triple joy. Before, how- 
ever, he referred more in detail to the things 
of which Charles had written so kindly, he 
would tell him something of his expedition, as 
he knew Charles would appreciate it. Then 
he went into a long description of the scenery 
of Iceland, the wonderful sunrises and sun- 
sets of the unending summer days, where the 
changing of the glow from the west to the 
east is all that marks the sinking of the sun 
and its coming up again. He told, too, of the 
great intelligence of the common people of 
the island. One day a little boy of eight 
joined their party. Every bird in the air, 
every weed or plant at the wayside was familiar 
to him in name and habits. But more than 
that, he knew about the location and the cus- 
toms and languages of the countries from 
which they had severally come, and when they 
asked him who had taught him all these things 
he answered simply, “JNIodir min”- — my 
mother. This incident illustrated the educa- 
tional system of the country. 

225 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


Of the hardships which they had encoun- 
tered he said he never wrote to Carola. What 
need to vex her mind with such tales? But 
to Charles he would tell the adventure which 
had come nearest turning out fatally. They 
had paid a guide to show them the way to 
“Reykjadalur,” the valley of smoke — and, 
after they had ridden hard for seven hours, 
through desolate valleys, over barren hills and 
sandy stretches, the guide told them that he 
w'as not sure of the direction. Following the 
impulse of their first anger and disappoint- 
ment, they sent the guide on to bring back 
the pack-mules which were a little ahead, hav- 
ing gained on their own party, as they did not 
stop to deploy here and there for observation. 
Then they turned their own horses and started 
hack for the last grassy spot they had passed, 
to camp for the night. In a little while, how- 
ever, they discovered that now they were lost 
in earnest, for they had missed even the return 
trail, and were thus separated from the guide 
and his native assistants. Not a tree, nor even 
a bit of grass, was to be seen to break the spell 
of the utter desolation about them. They 
climbed the nearby hills, they fired their guns, 
but hours passed before, far against the hori- 

226 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


zon, they saw a dark blot on the ridge of a hill. 
Nearer and nearer it came, and at last they 
found to their unspeakable joy that it was the 
guide. They were already growing numb 
from the cold and faint from hunger. He 
told them then that they had wandered into 
what is known and shunned as the “Kaldida- 
lur,” the cold valley, by the natives. The 
eagle does not even nest there nor the fox 
cross it. The guide led them back to where 
the pack train was waiting, but it took two 
days before they reached a village. 

Another wonderful experience had been 
their visit to the “Surtshellir,” the black or 
devil’s cave. Lord Duff erin said it was worth 
a journey around the world. Here the giant 
Surtur, the feared one, the black ruler of the 
fire, makes his home, according to the old 
Sagas, and, in this strange little land, every 
child knows the Sagas of its people and has 
read, either for itself, or has had read to it, 
the epic poetry of its race. Concerning this 
cave he had written Carola fully, and she 
would no doubt tell Charles all about it when 
next he visited Rauheneck, which Otto hoped 
would be soon. He hoped that Charles could 
go at least at Christmas time and help to con- 

227 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


sole Carola for Otto’s absence. In conclusion 
he touched lightly on what had been the gist of 
Charles’ letter, saying: 

“Much as I thank you for all that you 
thought best to write me about Carola, I really 
feel that I would he belittling myself to give 
way to such ideas and suspicions. You say 
we do not know each other very long, and must 
he careful now at the beginning not to hurt 
each other’s feelings by taking too much for 
granted. I can only regret that you are so 
anxious. I think Carola and I understand 
each other perfectly. 

“You do not say a word of the progress that 
you yourself are making in the graces of your 
Dulcinea. If I may return one suggestion 
for your many, I should say — do not be too 
faint-hearted; a bolder lover may get ahead 
of you.” 

Christmas and New Year’s had both passed 
before this letter reached Charles. At some 
other time he would have appreciated the fact 
that Otto had taken so much of his precious 
time to write such a long letter. In his pres- 
ent mood, however, nothing but the conclud- 
ing paragraph stood out in his mind. “As 
full of assurance as ever,” he murmured, cast- 

228 


FROM OTTO TO CHARLES 


ing the letter aside. “I can expect no thanks 
from him for keeping Paul Timar from mak- 
ing a New Year’s visit to Rauheneck. As for 
his allusions to the Kampes — they almost make 
me feel like staying away from there alto- 
gether. But I can not do that very well. 
For that matter, Ottilie may always be as re- 
served and distant with men as she seems to 
me, but I judged her too harshly when I 
thought of her as merely cold perfection. 
She certainly seems to have much sympathy 
for Carola and a delicate understanding of 
that poor girl’s difficulties.” 


229 


CHAPTER XV 


THE STORM 

The forester was walking up and down in 
the library with his hands behind his back. 
Presently his wife came in. 

“I am glad you came,” he said. “I want to 
talk to you. I have just received a letter from 
Vilnau. They would like to have Carola come 
over and spend a few days at the Lodge. 
She has seemed so silent and depressed lately 
that I thought a little change might he good 
for her. At this time of the year letters from 
Otto must naturally he few and far between, 
and a little later, when he can write oftener, I 
suppose she will cheer up.” 

Mrs. Baerens said nothing for a few min- 
utes. She did not like to have Carola out of 
her sight in the girl’s present temper, and yet, 
Paul was not likely to be at the Lodge now, 
and she certainly needed some diversion. 

Mr. Baerens noticed his wife’s hesitation 
and waited in silence. When she finally said 

230 


THE STORM 

“Yes,” he knew her mind was not fully made 
up, and that she was rather yielding to him 
than agreeing with him. But he felt that he 
understood the case very well himself. “All 
we can do,” he thought, “is give the girl good 
advice, but she and Pauline will tell each other 
worlds of stuff that seems too foolish for us, 
and then both will feel better. If she does 
feel depressed, Pauline is a very sensible girl 
and will know how to console her. It is pos- 
sible Paul may come, but I know that they 
will not specially invite him to come at this 
time, and how is he to know she is there if 
they do not? And for that matter, she can 
not go on forever avoiding Paul.” 

'l' 'i' jjg, ^ i}i. 'Ll 'Ll 

On the evening of the second day of Carola’s 
visit she and Pauline were sitting in Pauline’s 
own room, watching the fire blazing in the 
grate. “It’s the first time,” said Pauline, 
“that we have had a chance to be alone for a 
quiet little talk since you came.” 

Carola nodded, but said nothing. Her 
thoughts were far away with Otto, whom she 
pictured climbing around on the icebergs while 
she sat there idly by the fire. The next mo- 
ment she told herself that he was probably 

231 


THE STORM 


thinking but little of her, and why should she 
think of him? Finally Pauline broke the 
silence, saying, “And when did you hear from 
Otto?” 

“I have not had a letter since I saw you 
last,” Carola said in a tone to which she tried 
in vain to give an easy sound. “The connec- 
tions are so uncertain in winter.” 

“When do you expect him back?” asked 
Pauline. 

“Not for more than a year,” said Carola. 

“More than a year!” cried Pauline, in aston- 
ishment. “Why, how is that possible?” 

Carola’s only answer was a fit of uncon- 
trollable sobbing. Baerens thought Pauline a 
sensible girl, but altogether “sensible” in the 
matter of a love affair it is given few women 
to be. To be sure she tried to console Carola, 
but the very fact of seeing her so distressed 
excited Pauline’s wrath against the cause of 
it all. 

After all, Carola knew Otto but a very short 
time, and then under the most favorable cir- 
cumstances. Carola herself had felt uncertain 
as to what she ought to do to the last, and the 
very circumstance which made her look more 
kindly upon Otto at the last moment was a 

232 


THE STORM 


mistake. Paul himself had sent her the 
gift for which she had been so grateful to 
Otto. It would be a tragedy if Paul, who had 
known no devotion in his life save to Carola, 
and had been loyal to her through all the years 
of his absence, would have to yield to some one 
who held her as lightly as Otto seemed to do. 
Moreover, Paul’s business prospects were 
really very good now. She might tell Carola 
that much at least. If she did not speak of 
him at all it might seem queer. 

But once Pauline was well started she told 
Carola many things about Paul besides his 
business prospects, and, at last she told her, 
too, how he had brought her the flowers and 
not Otto, and how he had seen her in the forest 
on that very first day. While the girls were 
still talking there M^as the sound of the door- 
bell, and a few minutes later a maid came to 
tell them that Mr. Timar was below and 
Madame von Vilnau asked that they come 
down. 

Carola, who had kept calm until now, 
and given no sign of emotion, said quickly: 
“O Pauline, dear, go down alone. I can not 
bear to see Paul just now. I must think it all 
over first. Tell him that I have a bad head- 

233 


THE STORM 


ache, and that is true, too. I am almost beside 
myself.” 

Alone in her room Carola was a prey of the 
most conflicting emotions. She thought of 
that evening, when her whole temper and feel- 
ing toward Otto was changed and softened by 
the gift of the flowers and the vase, which did 
not come from him at all. He had onty re- 
ferred to the ring which, as she learned from 
her mother later, he had gone to Lambrecht to 
get. Paul had gathered the flowers, Paul had 
thought of her, and had hastened to her before 
he had even gone to his own home. Now, too, 
she understood Paul’s question and his flush 
at her answer. How very difif erently he must 
have interpreted her words from what she had 
meant that he should. She turned and tossed 
in her bed, and not until toward morning did 
sleep come to her weary lids, and even then her 
brain went on weaving fantastic and torturing 
images out of the troubles of the day. When 
she woke it took her a few minutes to bring 
back the occurrences of the evening before. 

She got up and dressed herself quickly. 
When she was nearly finished the hall elock 
struck seven. It was well. Before eight 
o’clock the family would not be down-stairs, 

234 


THE STORM 


so she could slip out unnoticed. In the hall 
she met a maid. “I must go home at once,” 
she said to her. “Tell Madame von Vilnau 
that I have just remembered something that I 
forgot to attend to at home and that I shall 
come back in a day or two.” 

The fresh air and the exercise made her feel 
better in a few moments. She walked along 
under the ancient trees, soothed by their calm 
majesty. If she could have seen the clouds 
that were piling up in the south perhaps she 
would have been a bit alarmed, but there was 
no outlook, save directly overhead, and here 
there seemed to be little beyond the gray mist 
of the early morning. Suddenly, however, 
there was a rush of wind through the tree tops, 
and, almost at the same time, she noticed how 
dark the air had grown. 

A fine, sleety rain began to beat in her face. 
She drew her hood closer over her head and 
hurried on. But the icy rain, coming faster 
and faster, and freezing as it fell, made it al- 
most impossible to go on against the furious 
wind howling through the forest and snapping 
off the branches, heavy with ice and brittle 
from frost, crashing and cracking through the 
air in the fury of a mighty conflict. The girl, 

235 


THE STORM 


half -hysterical as she was from the unhappy 
night behind her, and breakfastless now, was 
soon exhausted by her struggle to dodge the 
swaying and sometimes falling branches, and 
hold herself on her feet, now stumbling and 
almost falling, now clinging to a tree. At last 
she leaned against a tree to rest, but a moment 
later it swayed and was thrown sideward. 
With a scream she ran out, brushed even then 
by a far-spreading branch, which scratched her 
face in its fall. She hardly noticed the scratch 
in her excitement, until she felt the warm blood 
running down her cheek. Not far away she 
heard another tree falling and then, in her 
terror, she screamed aloud for her father. 
Perhaps he was somewhere in the forest and 
would hear her. Again and again she cried 
out, but there was no answer. In her despair 
she kept on crying, “Oh, father!” and then 
unconsciously, “Paul, Paul!” 

W as it really so that he came thus quickly in 
answer to her voice, or was it only a mocking 
play of the wild sounds around her. “Carola!” 
called a voice again. “Paul!” she sereamed 
once more, and the next moment she felt her- 
self clasped and lifted. She wanted to pro- 

236 


THE STORM 


test, but before she could speak she heard a 
terrific noise, the shouts of other voices, and 
then, for a brief instant, her senses seemed to 
leave her. 


237 


CHAPTER XVI 
Paul’s love 

When the family at St. Hubert’s Lodge 
came down to breakfast they were in conster- 
nation at Carola’s abrupt going. Pauline 
alone suspected the reason. It was all Paul 
could do to keep himself from following her 
at once. But when he looked out of the din- 
ing-room window, and saw the clouds coming 
up with such sudden fury, and the icy rain, he 
put on his coat and hurried out. Nor did the 
others try to restrain him. Mr. Vilnau, in- 
deed, suggested that considering that they did 
not know for certain which way Carola had 
gone, nor what might happen, Paul had better 
take two men with him, which he did. 

They finally got near enough to her to hear 
her cries. He had hardly found her when he 
saw the tree under which she was standing 
sway. He scrambled to one side with her, but 
not quickly enough to escape a blow. One of 

238 


PAUL’S LOVE 


the heavy branches struck him across the back. 
In the happiness of finding her again he did 
not heed his own hurt, however, but hurried, as 
best he could, in the direction of the men’s 
voices. Presently he found them. He was 
hardly able to whisper that one of them should 
hurry back to the Lodge and get a sleigh as 
quickly as possible. 

The worst fury of the storm seemed to have 
passed by this time, but the damage was terri- 
ble. The roadway w^as blocked here and there 
by mighty trunks, and he placed Carola on 
one of these and sat down beside her, support- 
ing her with his arm. 

“Oh, Paul, you saved my life!” she whis- 
pered. 

He looked at her tenderly and moved his 
lips to answer, but a sudden warm, sultry, nau- 
seating taste on his tongue made him turn his 
head away quicldy and put his handkerchief 
to his mouth. 

“Are you sick?” she asked, watching his 
movements anxiously. 

“It is nothing,” he answered, turning to her 
again. 

But she saw how pale he was. “You over- 
did yourself. I Can see it in your face, and for 

239 


PAUL’S LOVE 


my sake — for me. To help me you came out 
into this awful storm.” 

“You are pale, too. I believe you fainted. 
You must have been awfully frightened.” He 
sat beside her as one in a happy dream, heed- 
ing neither the fury of the elements nor the 
pain he was suffering. He wiped away the 
blood that had trickled down from the scratch 
on her face and asked whether she was hurt. 
For a long time they sat in silence; then, at 
last she asked, “How did you get here, Paul?” 

“We learned that you were gone, and then 
the storm came. I thought you would follow 
the path, but you must have gotten lost, for if 
I had not heard your calls I would not have 
found you.” 

“Oh, I would have been killed if you had not 
come.” He drew her closer to him. He knew 
it was so,’ and f or a moment the thought over- 
came him. 

“Thanks be to God, you are not hurt. But 
why did you go, so early and in such weather, 
alone?” 

She did not reply. How could she? He 
repeated his question, and added, “I was so 
sorry, Carola, that you had gone.” Then 
she looked at him. 


240 


PAUL’S LOVE 


“It was wrong of me to go, Paul. I see that 
now. But I can still right it all. I called you, 
and you came to me through all the storm and 
the danger. If God had not protected you, 
you would have been killed for my sake. How 
could I ever want a truer, or a better protector 
than you are?” 

He heard her words, but he dared not grasp 
their meaning. Not until she added softly, 
“Or don’t you care for me any more, Paul?” 
was he sure of her intention. Then he knelt 
down before her and covered her hands with 
kisses, whispering endearments the while. 

“Get up, Paul, get up, dear,” she said; “the 
people are coming.” Then she kissed him 
gently on the forehead. 

“I feel better now. Let us go and meet 
the sleigh.” 

“The road is too slippery, and out in the 
open the wind is still too strong. Do you not 
hear it howling?” 

“Yes, but I am not afraid now that you are 
with me. Oh, hear the sleigh,” she cried out. 
“Now we are all right,” and, forgetting Paul’s 
warning, she hurried forward, but she slipped 
after a few steps and would have fallen if he 
had not caught her. For a moment he held 

241 


PAUL’S LOVE 


her fast while he whispered to her: “Carola — 
have you thought of Otto, too?” 

“Oh, too long and too much. You brought 
me the flowers, I know it now. You saved mv 
life, and you have always loved me. Do not 
worry. I love you too.” 

“Hurrah, here they are!” sounded a voice 
up the road before Paul could answer. 

“Children, children! Thanks be to God you 
are safe!” 

“Carola, my dear, dear Carola,” whispered 
Paul once more before the sleigh drew up be- 
side them. He helped her in beside Vilnau 
and then climbed to the back seat himself. 

“Child,” said Vilnau, “what a fright you 
have given us all!” 

“Oh, and that you yourself should come out 
on my account is too much,” said Carola, smil- 
ing faintly. 

Vilnau looked at her with fatherly tender- 
ness. “That’s nothing, but Paul really risked 
a great deal. He was ready to go before the 
rest of us really noticed that anything serious 
was going to happen.” 

“He is my Paul, too,” she said proudly, 
“my dear, good Paul,” and she reached her 
hand across the back of the seat. 

242 


PAUL’S LOVE 


Paul raised it to his lips with such a happy 
look in his eyes that it startled, yet half- 
pleased, Vilnau. “What — what is this, child?” 
She only nodded. Then she closed her eyes, 
and leaning back, she whispered, “I am so 
tired.” 

“It is no wonder. Such a storm is enough 
to tire a strong man, and you went otf with- 
out a bite of breakfast, poor child. Just look 
at the destruction! Old as I am, I never saw 
anything like it. You look pretty badly 
knocked out yourself, Paul.” 

“Oh, what does that matter,” he said, the 
happy light coming back into his fine, dark 
eyes. “She is saved and she is mine.” 

“Easy, now, easy,” said Vilnau, “or we may 
have both of you on our hands. I don’t like 
to bring her back home looking as she does — 
and as for you, you could not go to the city 
to-day. I shall take you back and put you to 
bed, too.” 

When the sleigh drew near the village they 
saw Baerens out, looking at his beloved trees, 
all torn and broken. 

“Do not worry about those old trunks,” 
called out Vilnau. “New ones will grow in 
their places. The same God is still living, and 

243 


PAUL’S LOVE 


has been very merciful to us to-day. Much 
worse might have happened.” 

The forester looked up in astonishment. He 
was about to retort somewhat impatiently, 
when he remembered Vilnau’s fate. “He is 
right,” he thought. “The trees will grow 
again, hut his sons will not come hack to him. 
What brings you over here at this time and in 
this weather?” he added, aloud. 

“We were coming to your house.” 

It was only now that Baerens saw his daugh- 
ter, who seemed half -unconscious. “For heav- 
en’s sake, what has happened? Is she sick?” 
“She was not quite well,” said Vilnau, “and 
wanted to come home. Get in with us.” 
Baerens looked at Carola. He saw how wet 
and icy her hood was, and Paul’s clothing, too, 
seemed stiff with ice. When he bent over her 
she opened her eyes and threw her arms around 
his neck. “F ather, dear, I am so glad you are 
here, too,” she whispered. Arrived at the 
house he lifted her out, and carried her in. 
Vilnau and Paul followed slowly. In the hall 
they stopped and waited. A moment later 
Baerens came back and urged them to come in 
and sit down. 

“Not now. We had better go right back, 

214 


PAUL’S LOVE 


now, so as not to be in the way. Carola may 
need all your attentions. But before I go I 
should like to talk to you for a moment.” 

Baerens led the way into the library, and 
Vilnau told him briefly all he knew, and what 
Pauline had told them. The forester was be- 
side himself at the thought of the position the 
whole matter would put him in in regard to the 
Rudolphis. 

“Console yourself,” said Vilnau, “by remem- 
bering that very much worse might have hap- 
pened to you to-day. And then it mitigates 
the matter that Carola knew Rudolph! such a 
very short time, while Paul — well, we have 
talked about him often enough. As to what 
he did to-day, your daughter can tell you 
more than I can. I shall go now and take 
him home with me. As soon as the roads are 
cleared a little I shall come back and see how 
the child is getting along.” With that he hur- 
ried out. 

The forester was so taken up by what he had 
been told that he did not notice his friend’s de- 
parture until he heard the jingle of the bells 

as the sleigh went out of the gate. 

* * * * * 

Eight days had passed. Carola had left her 

245 


PAUL’S LOVE 


room for the first time, and was sitting at her 
favorite place in the sitting-room. The ex- 
posure and the excitement had made her weak 
and feverish for several days, and the concern 
about the possible outcome of her illness had 
crowded out the thought of everything else. 
Sitting at her bedside, with her hand in his, 
her father had listened to the story of all her 
worries up to the culmination on that terrible 
morning. At the end she begged of him to 
forgive her and accept Paul, who had saved her 
life and who loved her so much, as his son. 
And he promised his child that everything 
should be as she wished. 

N evertheless the aff air cost him many a bad 
hour. “It is just,” he said to his wife, “ as 
if we were bound to be afflicted by the thing 
that is most opposed to our natural disposition, 
aims, and purposes. All my life I have had 
the most scrupulous regard for my word and 
promise, and now I am in a position where I 
have to break the most sacred of promises, 
and that, too, in the face of people who have 
been my best friends all my life. I have to 
write, I suppose. But I shall not go into de- 
tails about trifles, as, for instance, that mistake 
about the flowers and his not writing, and so 

246 


PAUL’S LOVE 


on. She can write that herself, and write she 
must, of course. She promised — gave him her 
promise, and now she must take it back, too.” 
Mrs. Baerens accordingly said to Carola as 
soon as she had a good chance: “My dear, 

when you are strong enough, you ought to 
write to Otto and tell him of your — your 
change of opinion. Your father Avill add a 
few words of his own to the letter. It must 
be done any way, and so the sooner the bet- 
ter.” 

Carola turned pale. “You are right. I 
shall tell him frankly how it all happened.” 
“That is right, my child. Write him fully 
just how you feel. No one else can tell you 
what to say. But to-day you are not quite 
well enough, are you?” 

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “I keep thinking 
of it all the time as it is. I shall feel better 
after I have wi’itten.” 

But when her mother came hack, after a 
while, Carola had not written a word. She 
rose and got her jewel-box, took out the little 
case which held her engagement ring, lying in 
its white bed now like a shining tear. She 
wrote a few words on a strip of paper, 
wrapped it around the ring, and handed the 

247 


PAUL’S LOVE 


case to her mother. “Here is the ring. Send 
it baek. I can not write.” 

<1/ vl/ ^ 

yfr yfr 

Fernau was sitting in Miss Timar’s sitting- 
room, where he spent many an evening these 
days. The old lady looked pale and disturbed. 
He, too, wore a serious and sympathetic ex- 
pression. 

“No matter how you look at it,” she said at 
last, “it remains an accomplished fact and we 
must deal with it as such. Since I was at Rau- 
heneck and came to know her better, I can un- 
derstand how it is that she has such an irresist- 
ible charm for Paul. To more earnest and de- 
veloped people, such as you are, she may seem 
too childlike and delicately feminine, but it is 
this very accentuated femininity that attracts 
Paul. I was surprised, too, to see how beauti- 
ful she has grown. But, of course, you artists 
look upon personal beauty in a different light 
from what the rest of us do,” she added, seeing 
that Charles remained silent. 

“Please do not misinterpret my silence,” he 
said then. “I think Miss Baerens very beauti- 
ful myself, but to me her chief charm is not in 
her beauty, but in her delightful character. 

248 


PAUL’S LOVE 


For that reason the task you have set me 
weighs all the heavier on my soul.” 

“It is very kind of you to write at all and 
to try to make excuses for the two. I do not 
know your friend, but I have heard nothing 
save what was good of him. And then I 
know only too well how much Paul suffered, 
not to have the keenest sympathy for some- 
body else in a like position. Really, j^our 
friend does not seem to be entirely blameless. 
A new-won love must be cherished, especially 
in the heart of a young girl who hardly grasps 
as yet the demands which a man’s profession 
and duties may make upon him. He seems to 
have expected of her the things which it is not 
always safe to expect from older and more 
experienced people.” 

Charles nodded. He himself felt that his 
friend may have been guilty of more than 
overconfidence in Carola, overconfidence in 
himself, especially when he remembered the 
assumption with which Otto had spoken of his 
“bride-to-be” on the very fii'st day in Rau- 
heneck. 

It was a great relief to the old lady to open 
her heart to Charles. “You are so kind to 
listen to me,” she said. “It is our pride that 

249 


PAUL’S LOVE 


makes everything so hard for us to bear. We 
are to be meek of heart, and often we think 
we are very much so until something comes to 
prove to us that we, too, have our silent pride. 
I never thought I was proud, but now I know 
that I was proud of Paul and for him. Yet, 
in truth, I do not believe that your friend will 
feel the loss of Carola as much as poor Paul 
did. That does not seem possible.” 

vL>. .Ma '1' 

A few hours later Fernau was up in his own 
room writing to Otto. He was thinking the 
while of what Miss Timar had said to him, 
and feeling that, much as he had talked to her, 
he had given no indication of his innermost 
feelings and struggles. After all his strug- 
gles with himself to keep away from Carola, 
his self-abnegation had not helped Otto, and 
now, by a curious combination of circum- 
stances, it was even his lot to write to his friend 
and plead for the man who had taken that 
friend’s place. 

Miss Timar herself sat quietly thinking a 
long time after Charles was gone. She, too, 
felt that with all her confidences she had not 
told her young friend the deepest fear of her 
heart. 


250 


CHAPTER XVII 


TENDER THOUGHTS 

July had come. The ships of the expedi- 
tion were at Reykjavik once more. After a 
short rest at the port, the explorers started for 
the famous geyser in the interior. 

Otto was not altogether pleased with the 
news from home that he found awaiting him at 
Reykjavik. His mother wrote regretfully 
concerning the prospect of his much prolonged 
stay, telling him not only that they missed 
him at home, but that she felt sure Carola, too, 
must be filled with anxietv on his account. 

Carola’s letter had even less of comfort in 
it. It certainly did not seem as cheerful and 
cordial as previous letters had been. In spite 
of himself, Charles’s warnings haunted him, 
and he began to wish that he had gone home in 
the fall with his German friends, instead of 
extending his stay for a whole year. 

Lost in such gloomy thoughts, he rode on 
with his party, paying but little attention the 

251 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


while to the changing scenery of the country 
about him. A young physician, a native of 
Reykjavik, had joined them, and it was his 
kindly interest that finally succeeded in rous- 
ing Otto from his abstraction and depression. 
The doctor knew the names of the hills and 
valleys and the lakes, their distinctive charac- 
teristics, and the tales tradition connected with 
them, the habits of the people, their physical 
conditions, and the diseases most peculiar to the 
land. Now and then they met women and 
children gathering the Iceland moss in the 
fissures and ledges of the rocks. 

Toward evening the travelers came upon a 
little stream with a swift and powerful cur- 
rent. There was no bridge and nothing to do 
but to look for a place to ford. Somehow Ot- 
to shrank from the effort of crossing. He 
felt tired and relaxed, and his horse, too, was 
fagged out. The other horses plunged in 
without any sign of dislike, but Otto’s horse 
seemed to reflect his rider’s mood. It refused 
at first to go into the water at all. At last 
it started, but in the middle of the river it 
seemed to lose its footing and Otto was too ex- 
hausted to pull it up in time. The young Ice- 
lander, however, who was beside him, had it on 

252 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


its feet in a moment with a powerful jerk, and 
guided it on and across. When they reached 
the other side and started off again, Otto felt 
so exhausted that it was hardly possible for 
him to keep his saddle until they reached the 
little village where they were to put up for the 
night. 

When they arrived. Dr. Havsteen declared 
that Otto had a high temperature, and, as ty- 
phoid was common on the island at that time 
of the year, he must go to bed at once and take 
care of himself. In the little, tightly-closed, 
smoky cabins of the natives Otto insisted that 
he could not rest, and that he would prefer an 
open air camp. This, too. Dr. Havsteen de- 
clared dangerous, and sent one of the guides 
to look for better quarters. 

The guide soon returned with the good word 
that the travelers would be permitted to make 
the little church of the village their headquar- 
ters for the night. Here the young physician 
arranged a comfortable bed for Otto, and, 
after giving him some medicine and hot drinks, 
left him to sleep, as the best cure for the long 
physical, and apparently nervous tension, too, 
which the young man had endured. 

When O tto wakened he felt like a new be- 

253 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


ing. His companions were lying on the altar 
stairs, rolled in their blankets. Dr. Havsteen 
alone was not asleep, and writing so busily 
that some time passed before he noticed that 
his patient was sitting up and looking at him. 
He was delighted to find him so much better, 
and Otto asked in turn what he was writing so 
early in the morning. “I am engaged,” said 
Havsteen simply. 

“But how are you going to send your letter 
from here?” 

“I promised to write my betrothed at every 
stop we make, and to send my letters as often 
as I ean. If there is no ehance to mail the 
letter, I can still show her when I return how 
faithfully I thought of her.” 

The young leelander, finding his listener so 
sympathetic, talked until some of the villagers 
brought breakfast, whieh was all the more de- 
lightful after the cold and hasty lunches of the 
day before, for the Icelanders know how to 
make delicious cotfee, and never think of put- 
ting anything into it save the richest of cream. 
It is the custom, moreover, to bring guests 
their coffee in bed. Havsteen talked with 
some of the men for a few minutes. They 
nodded and went away. Soon after they 

254 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


came back with boxes and packages, which 
they began to undo, to Otto’s astonishment. 
Havsteen explained that they contained oi’na- 
ments and articles of apparel of the kind it 
was customary for brides to wear in that vil- 
lage. Havsteen chose a black velvet collar 
with silver embroidery around the edge. Otto, 
too, whose memories of Carola had been en- 
livened by his pangs of regret, and also by 
Havsteen’s tender thoughtfulness for his own 
betrothed, could not resist buying something 
for her also. He selected a silver-mounted 
velvet belt and several small silver medals of 
exquisite workmanship. Havsteen looked at 
him in astonishment. 

“Did you understand, brother,” he asked, 
“that these things are only to be given to 
brides?” 

Otto nodded; noting his friend’s puzzled ex- 
pression, he added: “I, too, am engaged.” 

“And you did not tell me anything about 
it — did not even tell me her name, after I told 
you everything concerning myself?” asked the 
frank-eyed Northerner. “Do you really love 
her?” 

“How can you doubt that?” asked Otto, 
moved by the naive question. 

255 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


“Yet you went so far away, and for such a 
long time?” asked Havsteen, shaking his head. 
“Elizabeth would not let me go away for so 
long — and I would not want to go,” he added, 
in an undertone. 

Otto’s reticence seemed to have hurt Hav- 
steen, who was very sensitive, and it was hard 
work to get back to the f amiliar f riendly foot- 
ing. Havsteen warmed but slowly to Otto’s 
persuasions. 

The weather changed, and it rained day 
after day, making the roads slippery and un- 
certain and sleeping in tents all night most 
uncomfortable. JMoreover, the scenery of the 
country through which they were passing was 
desolate and monotonous, and the travelers 
were filled with delight when at last they 
reached the little port of Akureyri. Hav- 
steen consoled Otto with accounts of the hos- 
pitable entertainment he might expect for 
himself and his friend in the town, for he had 
a dear friend there. Another pleasure was 
awaiting Otto, however. A ship, almost ready 
to sail for Copenhagen, was at anchor in the 
harbor. He was longing to write a letter to 
Carola, and tell her how anxious he was to see 
her once again. For the first time in his let- 

256 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


ters to her he forgot his plans and his am- 
bitions, and wrote only of her and of his desire 
to see her. 

He had not quite finished his letter when 
Havsteen came in and told him that his friend, 
Helgason, whom he had looked forward to 
seeing with such eagerness, was ill of fever 
and depended on him for medical attendance. 

“So then,” he concluded, “I can not go with 
you at once. But later, if there should be oth- 
ers going in the same direction, I shall join 
you at the geysers. If, however, brother. 
Heaven has decreed that we should meet no 
more, then farewell, and when you are far 
away think sometimes of the Icelander, Hav- 
steen, who asks God’s blessing on you every 
day.” 

Otto was much moved. He had hardly real- 
ized how fond he had grown of Havsteen, and 
he knew he would miss him — especially now 
when he worried so much about Carola. Hav- 
steen was the only one to whom he felt free 
to talk of her. The expression of Otto’s face 
did not escape Havsteen, and he repeated that 
he would hasten his departure from Akureyri 
as much as possible and meet them at the 
springs, if it were in his power. 

257 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


It was a clear, beautiful morning when the 
party started out, supplied with a carefully 
marked road-map by Havsteen. On the other 
side of the fjord the horses they had ordered 
were waiting for them, and they started in a 
wide zigzag up the Valaheidi. The trail was 
extremely steep and dangerous, but once at the 
top the party was rewarded by a wonderful 
outlook. At their feet was the long narrow 
fjord, shut off by the green islets at its mouth. 
Far across lay the pleasant little town they 
had just left, and beyond that snow-clad 
heights. 

Otto gazed long upon the scene, his eyes 
filled with admiration; but his thoughts car- 
ried him far, far beyond, to the quiet house in 
the forest. He saw Carola sitting in her fa- 
vorite place at the window. On the table in 
front of her lay the belt and the native jewelry 
he had sent her, and in her hand she held his 
letter — the letter into which he had so unre- 
servedly put his heart-love. Fie pictured her 
looking with pleased eyes from the letter to the 
things he had sent her, and dreaming happily 
of the day when she should wear them as his 
bride. 

Poor fellow! Away against the horizon, a 

258 


TENDER THOUGHTS 


faint, black spot, fades the ship that bears your 
gifts. With widespread sails she flies on to 
her port, nearer and nearer each moment to 
home. But no smiling sweetheart will reeeive 
your tokens — tears, bitter tears will fall on the 
silver flligree. Her eyes will turn, full of 
pain, to the dark pines beyond her window. 


259 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MRS, KAMPE TO THE FORE 

The heat of the August sun burned down 
on the wide streets of the city. The rows and 
rows of shop-windows showed only spreading 
aM^nings and curtains drawn, to keep the de- 
tructive light from the precious goods. The 
people of the city seemed to have withdrawn 
into their coolest corners, to complain of the 
unheard-of heat, or to doze through its worst 
hours. 

In a darkened room, whose deep red hang- 
ings and paper threw a warm reflection on the 
white bed and the pale face of the sick man 
who lay in it, everything was different. An- 
tonie Timar bent over and listened anxiously 
for the faint breathing of her darling. She 
looked, in mute pain, at the dark rings that 
framed his eyes and the sunken cheeks, robbed 
for the moment of their whiteness by the warm 
reflection. Despite the tropical heat outside, 
she shook as Avith a chill, as she covered her 

260 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


face with both her hands and sank baek into 
her chair. 

It had taken form at last — the specter that 
had haunted her so long. Ill, weak unto death, 
she saw him before her, he for whom she 
would have been glad to give her life. 

The anxiety which had filled her when Paul 
first came back, as she watehed his brilliant 
eyes, feverish, they seemed to her, and held 
his hot, nervous hands in hers, had left her for 
a time, yielding little by little to the sense of a 
long-fought-for security. Paul looked more 
robust, his manner was calmer, and she began 
to believe that all that had depressed her was 
but the aftermath of his hardships in India. 
Even yesterday, when he left her to go to busi- 
ness, she had thought how very well he was 
looking — and now this blow! 

Paul did not come home at noon. He sent 
word that some consignments had arrived, 
and he wanted to superintend their unpacking 
himself. She was rather pleased, beeause he 
seemed so cautious and careful, and then, too, 
she thought it better for him not to take such 
a long walk in the terrible heat. But the first 
look at him when he came in in the evening 
sent her into a panic of fear. Pale, haggard, 

261 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


with uncertain feet, he came toward her, and, 
before she could say a word, he sank down on a 
chair beside her, covered with blood. The 
physician who was called in assured Antonie 
that the case was not dangerous if all due care 
was exercised. The first and strictest of his 
injunctions was the avoidance of all excite- 
ment. 

Antonie thought of this as she sat there and 
watched him. She knew Paul, and hence her 
anxiety. He had been quiet up to this time, 
half asleep, but even now she fancied him writ- 
ing, on a slip of paper, since talking was for- 
bidden, that he wanted to see Carola. She felt 
herself yielding to his entreaties in the fear 
that his desires would he more dangerous than 
their fulfillment. 

In the meantime, her brother George had 
gone to see Fernau. “Everything depends on 
his being kept calm and quiet,” he said, “and 
so I am going to ask a great favor of you. 
Will you go to Rauheneck and tell the family 
all about Paul, and bring him a word from 
Carola in return? It will quiet him for the 
time, and anything that helps him is an inex- 
pressibly great favor to my sister and to me. 
I am hardly able to go myself, and for that 

262 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


matter, I do not want to leave Antonie here 
alone. As for the Baerens, I am sure it will 
be much easier for them if j^ou go in person 
than if we merely write about poor Paul.” 

An hour later Fernau was on his wav to 
the station. As he came near Kampe’s house 
he took out his watch and looked at it. “I 
have half an hour to spare — I ought to go in 
and tell them. Ottilie might console Carola 
and, at any rate, she ought to be told. She 
is always so kind and thoughtful.” 

As he sat in the parlor waiting for the young 
lady, he had time to get control of himself, 
for the prospect of seeing Carola had filled him 
with most conflicting feelings. It was very 
cool here, after the heat and glare outside. 
Moreover, he noticed, with almost the sense of 
a new discovery, how tasteful and restful 
everything about him seemed. Ottilie had not 
stopped to dress. She came in, in a plain, 
pale-blue morning negligee, her magnificent 
hair knotted low at the neck. 

For a moment they stood and looked at each 
other in silence, he surprised at her grace and 
charm, and she in happy delight at the unex- 
pected call. But her feelings changed swift- 
ly as he began to talk. 

263 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


“Poor Paul, poor Carola!” she repeated 
again and again, asking, in the meantime, all 
the details of the attack. 

“I saw the doctor myself this morning, and 
he has every hope that Paul will soon be well.” 

“You have not seen Carola since — ” Ottilie 
hesitated. 

“Not since last summer. I was afraid, I 
thought — ” 

“It will he a great consolation to Carola 
to have you come,” Ottilie said quickly, noting 
his embarrassment. “I know what confidence 
she has in you.” 

“In me?” he asked in astonishment. “Why, 
she hardly knows me. I was only in Rauhe- 
neck twice, and then always with somebody 
who was nearer to the family and to her than 
I am.” 

“In spite of these others,” said Ottilie, smil- 
ingly, “Carola took time to give some attention 
to you. If I were not afraid of your over- 
weening modesty I could tell you some very 
pleasant things.” 

F ernau smiled, too, and he stayed on, listen- 
ing to the amiable talk of the beautiful girl 
before him as in a dream, until the striking 
of the clock roused him. 

264 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


“I shall miss my train,” he cried, springing 
to his feet, “You have been so interesting 
that I really forgot for the moment my mis- 
sion, and the time — ” 

“You still have time, if you huriy. I hope 
you will soon bring me better news. I fear 
for Carola.” 

She followed him to the door, and then 
stepped outside, unconsciously, almost, for a 
last look after him. He, however, hurried 
around the corner without turning his head. 
At the same time ]\Irs. Kampe’s keen eyes 
gleamed for a moment over the stair railing, 
but before Ottilie turned, a little disappointed, 
she had gone. 

A half hour later the mother came into her 
daughter’s room to find her sitting in dreamy 
idleness. 

“What, not dressed? I thought you were 
going out?” 

“It is too hot, and I am not in the mood any 
longer.” Then she told her mother what Fer- 
nau had just related to her. Her mother 
showed little surprise. 

“Oh, it was he that came at this unseason- 
able hour of the morning. I thought perhaps 
it was one of your girl friends,” her mother 

265 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


said lightly, as though she were speaking of the 
most indifferent thing in the world. 

“I think it was very kind of him to come and 
tell me,” Ottilie answered. “He knows how 
much everything that happens to the Baerens 
interests us.” 

“Oh, yes, that’s true. We never see him 
except when he has some message or news from 
them. They really seem to interest him more 
than anybody else.” 

Perhaps Mrs. Kampe had spoken with un- 
conscious emphasis. Ottilie turned pale as 
death and bent her head over an imaginary 
spot in her dress. Then, murmuring some- 
thing unintelligible, she got up and went out 
of the room. Her mother looked after her 
with an indescribable mixture of astonishment, 
pity, and indignation in her face. 

“Well, if that isn’t getting to be too much,” 
she said at last. “That settles it. It can’t go 
on any longer like this. I shall speak to 
Kampe this evening myself, and we shall see 
what will happen.” 

Without the ghost of a thought of what was 
awaiting him the good man came home that 
evening. 


266 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


“But where is Ottilie?” he said, looking at 
the table, where but two places were laid. 

“She has a bad headache,” his wife ex- 
plained. 

“Headache? I hope there is nothing more 
serious the matter.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” said his wife, “a girl’s 
headache! Sit down and let us eat. You 
must be hungry and tired.” 

“I surely am that,” Kampe agreed. “It 
was hot and dusty to-day, and I had a lot of 
running about to do.” 

“Aren’t you afraid you are overworking in 
this heat?” she asked sweetly. “I was think- 
ing of you all afternoon out there in the heat 
and dust, working away, and we sitting com- 
fortably in the cool of the garden. You must 
begin to take care of yourself and take things 
easier. You have worked long enough and 
hard enough. I see that you are getting a 
gray hair here and there — ” 

Kampe, who was helping himself to the 
salad, stopped suddenly and fixed his round, 
honest eyes on his wife. This was such an 
alarming display of tender anxiety that he 
began to suspect some special cause. 

267 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


His wif e went on, however, stopping only to 
add a few extra tender and crisp leaves to the 
salad on his plate. “You ought to take care 
of yourself. You have really done very well. 
When I remember how we began lif e, and look 
around now and see how pleasantly I have been 
able to furnish and arrange everything as a 
result of your hard work — ” 

“What is it?” he asked in utter dismay. “I 
thought we had about everything in the way of 
furnishings and decorations that you wanted. 
I really can’t see what else.” 

“Heaven forbid,” she interrupted him. 
“We do not need another thing, and I am 
sure 7 never was great for getting superfluous 
things of any kind. Indeed, my whole idea 
in wanting what I have from time to time was 
to make things pleasanter for you and for Ot- 
tilie, my dear.” 

At this her dear husband stared at her, more 
mystified than ever. 

“Yes,” she went on, “you can look at me as 
if you think I do not know what I am saying, 
but is it not so? Of course, I know that you 
do not care for style and such things. There 
never was a man more easy to please than you 
are. But for the sake of your reputation, and 

268 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


your standing, and your advancement, it was 
necessary, more necessary than you ever 
thought, that you should make a good show- 
ing in the city. Your fine, well-arranged, 
tasteful house has not hurt your business, you 
can believe me. But then these are all side is- 
sues. There are other things of which I do 
wish to talk to you when you have finished.” 

“I have finished,” he answered, eager to 
know at last what was coming. 

“Have you heard,” she said, “that young 
Timar has had a hemorrhage and is very weak 
and sick now ? I did not want to speak of it at 
table, but I was thinking of it all the time. Just 
think, they say it happened him as a result of 
overwork, strain, I believe. His men were un- 
packing some goods and he helped them him- 
self, and it was too much for him in this heat. 
There, you can see how easy something can 
happen a man.” 

Mr. Kampe, outside of his own affairs, was 
not too quick of comprehension. So he stared 
at his wife a full minute before he took in her 
meaning. At last, however, it dawned on him 
that all her anxiety on his account was due to 
the accident that had happened to Paul Timar, 
and he suddenly felt very much moved. The 

269 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


good soul! How unjust it had been of him 
to suspect that she was flattering him because 
she had some ulterior wish ; and, if she did want 
something else for the house, would it have 
been so dreadful after all? 

“Where did you hear that?” brought back 
to the subject by his wife’s expectant look. 
“That is very sad. The poor young fellow!” 
“Mr. Fernau brought the sad news.” 
“Fernau? I am sorry I was not here. 
There is something about which I would have 
liked to talk to him. He is really a very sen- 
sible and clever young man. You have no 
idea what practical hints and ideas he has given 
me in my work, on occasion.” 

“You have often praised him to me,” she 
said, hesitating for a moment as to whether 
she should go directly to the point or not. “I 
really rather like him myself. There is some- 
thing stable and sensible about him, that is cer- 
tain. The only thing that surprises me,” she 
went on, hesitatingly, “is that he does not call 
here oftener, since you seem to like him so 
much, and he is so friendly with you. We 
have always been very pleasant to him, have 
we not?” 

“How do you mean — oftener? He never 

270 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


misses a call that he ought to make, and then, 
wasn’t he here to-day, as you said? When he 
meets me outside he always stops and talks 
a while, and he looks over things with me. 
He has a real understanding of architecture 
and building.” 

“Indeed, he does do that, does he?” she said, 
reflectively. “You never told me anything 
about it. What do you talk about — perhaps 
about us?” 

“About you?” said Kampe, in blank as- 
tonishment. “I suppose that is a joke. We 
talk about our business affairs, of course.” 

“Well, then,” she went on, “he asks about us 
sometimes, doesn’t he? Just as a matter of 
courtesy and friendship, I mean.” 

“Yes — er — ^yes, I suppose he does. I do 
not just remember,” he said, anxiously. The 
thing was beginning to mystify him again. 

She felt at last that there was no help for 
it. She would have to tell him the whole 
business. 

“My dear,” she said, moving a little nearer 
to him, “did the idea never come to you that 
this Mr. Fernau was cultivating your friend- 
ship,” — she bent close to his ear and whispered, 
“because he would like to be your son-in-law?” 

271 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


“No, my dear,” stammered Kampe; “never 
in the least. Do you think that — ” 

“I think just as little as you do,” she hurst 
out then, overcome by maternal indignation, 
“that he is thinking of our daughter — but our 
daughter thinks of him.” 

“Thinks of him? Why, why, that is — ” 
Kampe held his breath in astonishment. 

“That is something which must be gotten 
out of her head as soon as possible,” went on 
his wife energetically. “I am convinced now 
that he does not cai’e a particle for her. He 
never visits her, except on account of these 
Baerens. He seems to be taken up altogether 
with them. If Carola weren’t — ” 

“But, my dear, my dear, you are exciting 
yourself. Who knows — ” 

“Never mind,” she went on. “Don’t stop 
me. I must have my say for once at least. 
I have been keeping things to myself long 
enough. Something must be done, and you 
can do much more than I can in a case like 
this. You must help me. You are a man and 
I must lean on your resolution and understand- 

• 5 ? 

mg. 

“But,” he said, softened by her last words, 
“how did you find this all out? Did Ottihe 

272 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


tell you? I can hardly imagine Ottilie break- 
ing her heart.” 

“Of course not — such a beautiful girl, and 
to lose her heart to such a stiff, long-nosed, si- 
lent — oh, to be sure, I suppose he is really very 
good, and I suppose, too, love is blind, in her 
case, as well as in every one’s. She did not tell 
me anything — she is too proud to do so. But 
trust a mother to find out, Kampe. Of course 
he is pleasant to her, and she interprets every- 
thing he does in his favor. But it isn’t right, 
Kampe, I know. Stupid as I may be in some 
things, you can not fool me in a matter like 
this.” 

“Do you think we ought to send her away 
for a while — ” 

“Heaven forbid that I should ask such a 
sacrifice of you. And, as I look at it, that 
would do little good. I shall not let on to 
her that we have talked the matter over. To 
say anjdhing to her directly would but awaken 
a spirit of resistance. But we must see that 
she goes out more, and we must entertain our- 
selves. She must go to balls, and dinners, and 
concerts, and theaters. You can persuade her 
to do something like that better than I can. 
You know how anxious she always is to please 

273 


MRS. KAMPE TO THE FORE 


you. And, one thing more, when you meet 
Fernau, be a little careful how you talk to 
him, and do not make too great a fuss over 
him. You are always walking around with 
him, where all the world can see you both. 
You have been seen together so many times 
that people are beginning to talk about it, and, 
of course, if he does not care for Ottilie, that 
sort of talk will be very injurious to her. I 
shall do everything I can myself. You know 
very well that I always try to save you any 
trouble. A man who works as hard as you 
do should not be burdened with outside mat- 
ters, if it can be helped.” 

If Kampe had any feeling of resistance left, 
it was conquered by his wife’s concluding 
sentence, and when he went to bed that night 
his one overwhelming feeling was that there 
was not another such wife and mother in 
Mannheim. 


274 


CHAPTER XIX 


“forgive and forget ” 

The travelers were camped in the valley of 
the Tungna River in the center of the little 
springs surrounding the great geyser. Otto 
stood heside the latter, looking down with a 
feeling of awe into the wide, kettle-like hasin. 
The hluish-green water with which the great 
howl was filled was of such transparency that 
the most delicate deposits and the finest for- 
mations were discernible. Smooth as a mir- 
ror was the water before him, and yet, when it 
trembled, the earth trembled with it for miles 
around. He wondered whether he would have 
an opportunity to see this marvel of nature. 
The peasant whose lonely farm lay a mil e 
away told him that the crater of the great 
geyser and one of the lesser ones near by had 
been perfectly quiet all summer. Y et, even in 
the event that the geysers failed to play while 
the party was there, Otto felt that they had 
been well repaid for the long and toilsome 

275 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


journey. An indescribable feeling of lofty 
satisfaction came over him in this grand iso- 
lation. It seemed to him that he was encom- 
passed by the spirit of God. The tender 
scenes of his past life, his childhood’s home, 
his parents, and last and most intense, the 
time spent with Carola, came up before his 
eyes in a more lovely light than ever before. 
Lost in sweet reveries he stared into the quiet 
waters, forgetting all about him. 

The calls of his companions brought him 
back to the jDresent. He found that they were 
going back to the hut of the peasant who had 
been both their guide and their source of sup- 
plies, to rest and to eat. When Otto entered 
the low room a man rose and came toward him. 
“Havsteen!” exclaimed Otto, full of delight, 
and he heartily returned the kiss which is the 
greeting even between men in Iceland. Hav- 
steen’s friend had recovered rapidly, and the 
physician had hurried on as quickly as possible 
after the party. The others, too, welcomed 
the young man warmly. As they went out 
into the open again after eating, Havsteen 
took occasion to whisper to Otto: “I have 

news from home for you. The mail arrived at 
Akureyri just as I was leaving,” 

276 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


With this he took a small package out of his 
pocket. The postmai’k and the address told 
Otto from whom it came, but he was too ex- 
cited to notice how often it had been sent and 
re-sent, before it finally reached him. He hes- 
itated to break the cord that bound it, and 
finally looked about for a quiet place where he 
could be alone. 

Havsteen looked at him sympathetically. 
He had never seen Otto so moved, and he be- 
gan to think that his friend must really care 
a good deal for the absent girl, about whom 
he had been silent so long. While the others 
went on toward the geysers, Otto and Hav- 
steen found a seat on a flat rock. As Otto 
undid the package he said to Havsteen: 
“Nothing could have been more welcome 
than this token from her just at present. 
Only a little while ago I stood there by the 
geyser feeling inexpressibly lonely. My 
journey will soon be at an end, and then I can 
go home. I am glad — But — but what is 
this?” he interrupted himself suddenly. In 
one hand he held Carola’s ring, in the other a 
sheet on which was written in a trembling 
hand, “Forgive and forget.” 

At this moment a deep rumbling shook the 

277 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


air. Havsteen sprang to his feet and stared 
toward the geyser. He remembered that the 
others had told him they meant to provoke one 
of the smaller geysers, the Strokkur, into erup- 
tion, by filling the funnel-shaped bottom with 
heavy rocks. He clapped his hands and 
shouted, “They did it, they did it,” for at that 
moment an immense column of steam and 
water shot up into the air, followed by show- 
ers of hot water. A few seconds later another 
great waterspout raised itself, and, dividing 
like a bunch of skyrockets at the top, spread 
and fell in every direction. The travelers 
stood breathless. The spectacle awed and yet 
delighted them beyond measure. It took a 
full half hour before the great caldron had 
quieted down again, and then Havsteen re- 
membered Otto, and hurried back to see what 
had happened him. He was astonished to find 
him still sitting in the same place, his face, 
but a little while before so tender and expec- 
tant, set in hard lines, his eyes staring unsee- 
ingly out in front of him. Havsteen looked 
at him in silence. It is not easy to speak to a 
man with a look like that on his face. 

After a while Otto seemed to become aware 

278 


“ FORGIVE AND FORGET ” 


of his friend’s presence, and rousing himself, 
he said in a queer, hoarse voice: 

“It was extraordinary, overwhelming, 
wasn’t it? I do not remember ever having 
felt so shaken. The noise of the eruption 
fairly made me dizzy. I could not go after 
you. I am sure I shall always remember this 
experience.” 

He had spoken slowly, disjointedly, with- 
out looking at Havsteen. The latter, how- 
ever, saw that Otto had put away every sign 
of the package he had just received, so he 
leaned over and said kindly: “You do not 

seem to be very well, brother. I noticed it a 
while ago. Perhaps you are not over your 
sick spell yet. Let us go to the tent and you 
lie down. I’ll see that you are not disturbed 
for a while.” 

It was, indeed, the greatest kindness that 
any one could have done Otto just then. 
Havsteen himself went out and left him alone. 
When the late northern twilight was closing 
in over the scene Havsteen came back. It was 
too dark for him to see Otto’s face, and the 
voice sounded calm as he asked what the others 
had planned for the night. 

279 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


“We made some tea out of the boiling gey- 
ser water, and we are just sitting out there and 
talking. After a little while we are going to 
bed, while some one stands guard to see if 
anything will happen during the night.” 

Otto offered at once to keep the watch, and 
then Havsteen insisted that if he must do so, 
he would stay with him. The night was clear 
and beautiful. After the others were gone, 
the two walked up and down in front of the 
tent in silence. Finally Havsteen, tired from 
his long journey, sat down on a rug in front 
of the tent, and in a little while he, too, was 
asleep. Otto, thus left all to himself, wan- 
dered up and down and gave himself over to 
the bitterness of his heart. Yes, he could see 
it all very well now — she was nothing but a 
spoiled child. For the sake of a trifling dis- 
appointment, a delay in the mails, a whimsical 
idea that it was desire and not work that kept 
him awav, she had turned from him and broken 
her word; had given him up for another. 

And who was this other one? Paul Timar, 
of course — a mere vagabond, of whom no one 
had heard anything for years, and who, in his 
irregular and careless life, had probably lost 
all sense of a decent and respectable existence. 

280 


“ FORGIVE AND FORGET ” 


A person of whom he would have thought least 
and last as a rival. When he reflected what 
his own position was in comparison he drew 
his cloak up closer and raised his head. 

Then he heard steps beside him and a gentle 
voice saying: “Let us walk together, 

brother.” 

This unforgetting sympathy overcame Otto 
so that he could not speak for a few moments. 
Then he slipped his arm into his friend’s and 
walked up and down with him. And, as he 
Avalked, Otto gave way to the bitterness that 
fllled him, and poured out his woe to his friend. 
Havsteen let him talk on, save for a word 
now and then, to show that he was listening 
and that he understood. 

The stars had been shut out by thick clouds 
and the darkness of black night was about 
them. But Otto had forgotten time and 
place. Not until the gray light of the dawn 
began to show, and the physician urged him 
to lie down for a little while, did he come back 
to his immediate surroundings. Like a child 
he followed his friend, and though he thought 
he wanted to be alone, Havsteen sat by his 
side and watched him, and Otto remembered 
the night in the little church in Pingvellir when 

281 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


this same friend, the son of a strange land, 
far away from Otto’s own home, had watched 
him as tenderly as if indeed they were broth- 
ers and children of the same house. At last 
physical weariness conquered his torn and 
wounded spirit, and he fell asleep. 

The Icelander, however, remained for a long 
time, thoughtfully watching the face of the 
sleeping man. He remembered the picture 
which the young German had given him of 
his betrothed as they rode along the fjord at 
Akureyri. How delicate, how tender, how in- 
nocent and young she had seemed to rise in his 
mind! Havsteen could not help it if that pic- 
ture remained. As he looked at Otto’s drawn 
face and remembered some of his words, it still 
seemed to him that the girl was not altogether 
to blame. Her plea, “Forgive and forget,” 
had seemed like a mockery to Otto, but to 
Havsteen it seemed really an humble seeking 
of pardon. 

vlr vl/ 

vfc yfc vfv vfc 

The sun was high in the heavens when Otto 
came back to the others of the party. They 
were busy with their observations, and Otto 
pulled himself together and joined in with a 

will. His work was too important to be 

282 


“ FORGIVE AND FORGET ” 


neglected now for the sake of a fickle girl, 
and, moreover, the eruption of the day before 
had given them an opportunity to do many 
things they had feared to miss. 

On the morning of the following day the 
explorers began to get ready to return. The 
tent was f olded and the pack-horses were being 
laden. Otto and Havsteen were taking a last 
walk around the beautiful little pools near the 
geyser. 

Otto had talked about Carola once more. 
His excitement would not yet let him be quiet 
and calm, but he assured Havsteen that it 
would be the last time that he would give way. 
He would leave her memory behind him in 
this desolation, like a foolish dream from 
which he had awakened. Here in the heart of 
nature, surrounded by her marvels, he felt, 
more deeply than ever before, that science was 
everything to him and could satisfy him be- 
yond anything else on earth. 

Then he was silent and stared down through 
the crystal water at the fairy -like structures 
below its surface. The white, fern-like forma- 
tions glowed in marvelous beauty in the chang- 
ing tints of the water — now pale and delicate 
green, now purpling into deep amethystine 

283 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


hues. Havsteen, too, gazed admiringly into 
the depths, and Otto tried in vain to read what 
impression his words had made on him. 

Havsteen had seen Otto overwhelmed. No 
other man should have a like chance, and even 
the friend from whom he had not been able 
to conceal his emotions should feel that he 
could live for some higher purpose than a 
dream of love. 

“Oh,” he said at last, since Havsteen per- 
sisted in his silence, “how trivial seems a single 
human life and its small destinies! I shall 
throw my own ‘self’ into these depths.” 

Havsteen looked down. “Not so, brother,” 
he said at last. “Your ‘self’ you may sacri- 
fice — the selfish, exacting self, and dedicate 
the sacrifice to humanity for a high and noble 
purpose. But do not forget the while that 
every soul is a world, an infinitely precious 
world, and, to shape this world to pure and 
beautiful ends is the first and highest duty 
laid upon any one.” 

Otto looked in astonishment at his friend, 
whose words somehow reca*lled Charles and the 
studio of Professor Fischer, on the evenings 
when the old man would diverge for the mo- 

284 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


ment from art merely, and turn to the wider 
field of its relation to the moral world. 

“Give yourself time to grow calm and to 
think fairly,” Havsteen continued. “You 
remember what our guide said when we 
watched the first outbreak of the geyser. 
‘Ekki god’ (it was not good). We did not 
understand what he meant until we saw the 
second eruption and saw the water rise, clean 
and free, and break into rainbow hues instead 
of the muddy bubbles which followed after 
we dammed up the funnel with rocks and 
earth. The clearness of your own vision has 
been dimmed, too, and is breaking forth in 
anger and bitterness. Wait a little while, try, 
struggle, conquer, and the time will come when 
you will stand up clean and strong, no matter 
what your earthly fate may be. And now let 
us go, brother, and when you get to your own 
country, tell them sometimes that our poor 
little island has beauties which tongue can not 
describe nor brush paint.” 

Otto gave one last look at the quiet pools, 
whose calmness was in such contrast to his 
own wild emotions. Yet he took his hand 
out of his pocket, and it was empty. He had 

285 


“FORGIVE AND FORGET” 


meant to throw the box containing Carola’s 
ring into the waters, in front of Havsteen, so 
that Havsteen might see how well he was done 
with the past, but now, somehow, it seemed, 
instead of courage, merely childish petulance 
to do so. 


286 


CHAPTER XX 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 

The curtains of Ottilie’s room were drawn, 
the doors locked. She wanted neither sound 
nor word from the outside world to disturb 
her just now, as she sat there listening eagerly 
to Father Keller Avho had returned from a call 
on the Timars. He told Ottilie that, for the 
first time, the family had a little hope of Paul’s 
recovery. He admired Antonie’s heroic de- 
votion, which kept her always cheerful, always 
pleasant, so that not a word nor a look should 
betray her own anxieties to Paul and disturb 
him. He spoke of George Timar’s touching 
care for his nephew, hut he said never a word 
about Fernau, although Ottilie knew that 
Fernau had been keeping a faithful watch 
at his friend’s bedside all these weary weeks. 
All her acquaintances were speaking of his de- 
votion to Paul. She knew, too, that this was 
the reason that the monument on which he had 

287 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


worked so long was not yet finished and 
placed. 

She had not seen him for such a weary time, 
she had been so long between hope and fear, 
that she had yearned to have her uncle come, so 
that she might talk to him and tell him all her 
cares — but now she sat silently in her chair and 
said nothing. 

The priest knew very well what was in the 
mind of his beloved niece; indeed, he knew 
much more than Ottilie guessed. His sister 
had waylaid him when he came into the house, 
before Ottilie had a chance to see him. She 
told him everj^dhing that she had told her sur- 
prised husband some weeks before, and, in ad- 
dition, some other things known to no one but 
her own judicious self up to that time. 

There were times when Mrs. Kampe was 
rather jealous of her brother’s influence over 
her daughter, and ordinarily she did not think 
of appealing to him for advice. But now, 
when the life-happiness of her child seemed 
at stake, she put aside these petty notions and 
implored his aid. Thus Father Keller came 
to know that a young man, belonging to a very 
good family in the city, and having the most 
excellent prospects personally, had paid a 

288 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


great deal of attention to Ottilie and had con- 
fided in her mother to the extent that he would 
propose to her definitely, but that he feared, 
from her distant manner, that she was not very 
much interested in him. “I have not spoken 
to Ottilie about it,” Mrs. Kampe went on. 
“If she is still thinking of Fernau — who, by 
the way, has not showed himself here for about 
six weeks — if she is thinking of him talking 
to her would be useless. It would be worse 
than useless, for she would feel obliged to cut 
the other man, while she is at least pleasant 
to him now in a friendly way. I really do 
not know what to make of the girl. She 
seems more amiable and kindly than ever, and 
I sometimes wonder if I made a mistake about 
Fernau. Yet the fact remains that she can 
not be gotten to take any interest in anybody 
else. I wish you could find out for me what 
is the matter with her.” 

Thinking of these things Father Keller 
waited quietly until Ottilie would be ready to 
speak. But words seemed to come to her with 
difficulty this morning. 

“How is everything at Rauheneck ? Didn’t 
Carola send any word to me?” she asked at 
last. 


289 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


“You will find Carola much changed. For 
that matter you will probably see her to-mor- 
row — for the physician has finally yielded to 
Paul’s entreaties and will permit him to see 
her. Things have become very quiet over at 
Baerens’, where they used to be so gay. 
Carola says very little, but I think she feels 
the more. Think what a strange coincidence! 
The very day on which Charles brought the 
news of Paul’s illness, a little case containing 
some gifts from Iceland and letters from Otto 
came for Carola. The connections seem to 
have been very uncertain up there, and so 
Rudolphi knew nothing of what had happened 
in the interval, and sent these presents to 
Carola. Her mother told me that Carola was 
so moved that she shut herself up in her room 
for the day. That is why Fernau did not see 
her, as he probably told you.” 

Ottilie flushed deeply and shook her head. 
For a moment she struggled to control her- 
self. “I have not seen him since,” she said, 
slowly. “To you, dear unele, I owe a thou- 
sand thanks. It is late to say so, but still I 
mean it none the less. You gave me good 
advice when I was out at Rauheneek. I did 
not see the full meaning of the words of 

290 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


Thomas a Kempis at once, but day by day the 
understanding came to me, and now I know. 
Do not be afraid that I am going to weary 
you with my doubts and fears and hopes — I 
have put everything into the hands of God.” 
He looked at her in surprise. He had 
hardly expected such words from her. But 
before he could say anything, she went on: 
“A little while ago a remark my mother 
made woke all my doubts again, and distressed 
me very much. But then I saw your little 
slip of paper with its message, and I grasped 
its meaning at last. Since then I have wanted 
to see you, to tell you what command it has 
given me over myself.” 

As the old priest looked at the beautiful 
girl, tears came into his eyes. He himself had 
begun to question Fernau’s love for her when 
he listened to his sister talk. Yet how could 
he do otherwise than love her? He remem- 
bered how much Fernau had praised Ottilie, 
how pleasant he had been to him himself, and 
how much they had talked at the time of his 
first visit. And, lately, when he came hack to 
Rauheneck on his sad mission, he had come 
over to stay with him instead of accepting the 
hospitality of the Baerens. Yet he said noth- 

291 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


ing of any of these things. He did not mean 
that her hard- won calm, for which he thanked 
God in his heart, should be disturbed by anj'' 
word of his. All he said, therefore, w^as: 
“Hold fast to your faith, my child. God will 
bless you and reward you with that which is 
for your salvation. We will not speak of 
these things any more to-day. One thing, 
however, I can sav. Y ou need not be ashamed 
of your feeling for Fernau.” 

He was going to add, “Even if he does not 
return it,” but the words seemed needlesslv 
cruel, and, when he was gone, he was glad that 
he had not said them. 

About this time Fernau was sitting beside 
Paul’s bed and gazing dreamily out into the 
thick foliage of the trees that shaded Paul’s 
room. 

During the last w^eek the physician had per- 
mitted Paul many things denied him at first. 
He might sit up for a few minutes at a time 
now, -and on this day he even agreed to let 
him see Carola. So Antonie believed that the 
long struggle was won at last. She felt happy 
beyond words, and the weary days and long 
nights were blotted out. She had learned to 

292 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


love Carola better, too, in these days of care, 
for much as she had always liked the girl, she 
had seemed but a spoiled and inexperienced 
child. But she had been far more sensible, 
and composed, and thoughtful, than Miss 
Timar had dared to hope, and she was glad 
that at last the physician was going to allow 
Paul to see her. 

Nobody, however, understood so well how 
to soothe and entertain Paul as Fernau. He 
brought the sick man sketches and pictures, 
and led him to talk of his adventures in India. 
He made plans for a southern trip during the 
winter, and for their first outing to Rauheneck. 
In this way he kept Paul’s lively fancy ever 
fixed on pleasant images, and the time passed 
quickly, for all his impatience. 

After Father Keller went away, Paul had 
gone to sleep. When he woke and saw 
Charles he said softly: “Is there any one 

here but you?” 

“No,” said Charles, strangely moved by the 
look which the sick man gave him. 

“I have much to tell you, you alone. 
Auntie is very cheerful to-day, isn’t she?” 

“To be sure. She is glad because you are 
going to see Carola at last.” 

293 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


A happy smile illumined the pale, delicate 
face for a moment. Then, however, the 
peculiar look of sadness, which had touched 
Charles so much a moment before, settled over 
it again. Paul went on: “It would be cruel 

to undeceive her, now that she is beginning to 
hope, when I have given up all hope my- 
self.” 

“Paul,” said Pernau, protestingly. But 
Paul silenced him with a deprecating wave of 
his hand. “Do not interrupt me. Let me 
talk, let me tell you everything that is weigh- 
ing so heavily on my heart. It may soon be 
too late for me to talk. I feel so light-hearted, 
almost gay and free to-day. All the impa- 
tience and the restlessness have fallen awav 
from me since my dream of last night. You 
know, Charles, that we buried uncle under a 
great tree near Lucknow, and cut his name 
into the bark, just as an ‘H’ is cut into the 
tree under which Havelock is buried. I 
thought I was under this tree last night. I 
felt so strange. I was looking for my uncle’s 
initials and could not find them. Everything 
before my eyes was blurred and queer, as if I 
saw through a fog. The feeling of my weak- 
ness and sickness seemed to dominate me even 

294 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


in my dream. I tried to call auntie, but no 
sound would come. Then she suddenly stood 
beside me and took my hand and pointed to 
the bark, where I saw entirely fresh initials 
had been eut. But Charles,” Paul’s voiee 
sank to a hardly audible whisper and his great 
eyes clung to his friend’s face, “it was my own 
name that I saw.” 

Fernau wanted to say something, but Paul 
motioned him once more to be silent, and went 
on : “I see it before me all the time, Charles, 

the brown, cut bark, and underneath the white 
wood. But I was not frightened. I turned 
to auntie, but when I looked at her it was not 
she, but a beautiful woman. 31ie spoke to me, 
she fixed her lovely eyes on me. A thrill of 
delight went through me: ‘Mother!’ I cried 

so loud that I wakened. I have seen her, my 
mother. I know it was she, though there is no 
picture of her here. Her look told me that 
my death was near. All pain and suffering 
has passed away. My soul sees clearly now. 
The veil that my daily life put over my own 
purposes is lifted, and three words stand out 
clearly: ‘Error, deceit, and guilt.’ You 

know my life. I do not have to explain.” 

“Who that is strict with himself can feel 

295 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


himself entirely free of these, Paul? Your 
youth — ” 

“Oh, my youth was happy, guarded, gra- 
cious. But do not speak of it. Three peo- 
ple stand before me now, toward whom I 
should like to stretch out my hands and say 
forgive. Do you know who they are, Charles? 
Tell auntie what I am saying after I am gone. 
Tell her, too, that I died in peace, because I 
knew that her love would clear my memory 
in her heart, and she would think of me only 
as I was at my best. But the stranger whom 
I robbed of his greatest treasure, do you think 
that he can forgive me? I wronged him, 
Charles, and her, too. Should I have accepted 
what she said to me in a moment of danger 
and excitement ? I ought to have waited until 
she had grown calm. I believe — ” he hesi- 
tated, and for a moment a wistful look came 
into his eyes, “I believe that then she would 
have said as she used to when we were children : 
‘Paul, dear brother, how much I thank you.’ ” 

“But, Paul—” 

“Let me be,” he went on, calmly. “I did 
not understand myself, and Carola does not 
understand herself yet. She never would 
have been really happy with me, for I think 

296 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


the shadow of wrong would have haunted her 
all her life. I can remember how her lips 
quivered when she told me about sending 
Otto’s ring back. She could find no excuse 
for herself, no reproach against him. All she 
could do was put down the little phrase, with 
which they used to make up their differences 
and quibbles when he was in Rauheneck, 
‘Forgive and forget.’ They shall be my last 
words to her, too, Charles. You will tell her 
for me. Give me your hand on it, Charles.” 

Paul stopped, exhausted. Charles held his 
hand. He was too much moved to answer. 

The calmness and confidence with which 
Paul had spoken made everything that Charles 
had meant to say about hoping for the best 
and looking forward to brighter days seem 
trivial and empty. There had been times 
when he had felt that Paul’s condition was 
hopeless, and it had pained him to see how the 
poor fellow clung to life, how he yearned for 
the day when he could leave his room and go 
to St. Hubert’s Lodge. Even yesterday he 
had insisted on looking over his business let- 
ters, and had talked about prices with Uncle 
George. And to-day? 

He had indeed changed overnight. He had 

297 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


now been granted a higher outlook, and all his 
past life seemed to him like a worn-out gar- 
ment. 

When Miss Timar came into the room after 
a while, Charles motioned to her to be quiet. 
She bent over Paul and looked at him for a 
while. “How quiet and peaceful he looks,” 
she said then. “I feel relieved just to look 
at him this way. If the doctor would have 
let him see Carola sooner, I believe it would 
have been better than medicine for him.” 

Charles said nothing. It hurt him to see 
her hopefulness, and yet what should he say 
to her? Moreover, the thought that he was 
going to see Carola on the next day had taken 
possession of him, and locked his lips with dis- 
tress. He could not avoid her, and yet he did 
not want to see her. 

Miss Timar, noticing his silence, said: 
“You look tired and troubled, my dear friend. 
You must get some fresh air and see some 
other people. Go out for a little while. Per- 
haps you might call on that friend of yours 
and Carola’s?” 

“I might do that. It is a very long time 
since I was there.” 

Fernau did not notice the significant smile 

298 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


that hovered about her lips. He hurried away 
so quickly that he even forgot to ask, as was 
his custom, whether there was anything else 
that he might do for her. 

“It almost seems,” she thought to herself, 
as she looked out of the window after him, 
“that the gossips are right. It would be a 
fine thing for her, though they say she is a 
splendid girl; but no one is too good for him.” 

'i' 'i' jjg, jlg, 

yfr ^ 

While Antonie was thinking thus kindly of 
Fernau, he was hurrying toward Kampe’s 
house. When he was almost in front of the 
door he suddenly stood still. “Perhaps it is 
too late in the afternoon,” he said to himself, 
looking up at one of the windows, where the 
lights were just being lit. “Ottilie would not 
mind — she is always pleasant. But there is 
her mother. There is always something about 
her that gives me a chill. Moreover, Father 
Keller is there, and he can tell her more about 
Rauheneck than I can. I think I shall wait 
until some other day.” 

He walked back slowly, and passing the res- 
taurant in which he and Otto had had their 
jolly little supper when Otto first came to 
Mannheim, he went in. The tables were 

299 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


mostly empty as yet, so he could choose his 
seat, and he went over into a corner hidden be- 
hind palms. After he had eaten he leaned 
back in his chair and gave himself over to his 
reveries. How gay and happy both he and 
Otto were on that evening ! And now ? They 
and all the others who had come within the 
range of their experience had their own sep- 
arate heartaches. 

In the meantime the restaurant was filling 
up. Suddenly he started. Somebody was 
speaking of him. 

“Fernau?” a voice asked. “Who is that?” 
“Oh, you must have heard the name. He is 
beginning to attract a good deal of attention. 
He is the sculptor who has the commission 
for the Weber monument.” 

“Oh, that is the man. He must be a great 
artist, for they do say that he is making the 
Webers wait a very long time.” 

“Perhaps there are reasons. But then that 
wasn’t what I was going to tell you. I am 
sure that I am right about his devotion to 
Miss — to the young lady of wKom you were 
speaking.” 

“You surprise me. What are the signs?” 
“They are conclusive enough. In the first 

300 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


place, the young man, who has always lived 
very quietly and much alone, has been calling 
there, and has been received very graciously. 
He does not go too often, but still he is on 
such good terms that he calls at any time of 
the day he wants to. And then, he is a prac- 
tical fellow who does not negleet details. He 
has been courting the old man as assiduously 
as he has the daughter.” 

“Oh, well, that is the father. What the 
daughter — ” 

“Oh, she is enraptured with him. Not that 
I suppose she ever says so, but then there are 
her new enthusiasms for art and her indiffer- 
ence to all the rest of us. And you hardly 
ever see her any place any more. Her artist 
disdains frivolity and so does she of late. I’ll 
tell you what, this disciple of the Muses will 
get the beauty away from your cousin if he 
does not take care.” 

“Yes, she is a beauty, that’s true enough. 
But there is something cold in her manner 
which repels one, I think, in spite of her 
beauty. She is very different from that 
charming friend of hers from Rauheneck, 
whom I met last year in her company. But,” 
he said in a changed voice, “isn’t that George 

301 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


Timar ? And look how he is hurrying. Sure 
enough, that is the doctor with him. Some- 
thing must have gone wrong with Paul again. 
Poor fellow, I am really sorry for him, even 
if he was proving a business rival. Come 
along, I want to ask his uncle about him.” 

The two young men hurried toward the 
door. Fernau rose, too. What he had heard 
went through his mind in a disconnected and 
distressing jumble. On his way to the 
Timar’s house he met the old servant. 

“Oh, do go up to Mr. Paul, as quickly as 
you can, sir. They think he is dying and I 
am going after the priest.” 

These words put everything else in the back- 
ground for the time. He opened the house 
door, and a chill seemed to strike him as he 
entered the great hall. Everything seemed 
silent and deserted. The faint light of the 
hall lamp fell, with ghostly vagueness, on the 
white statues and the green palms and ferns. 
He went softly up the stairs. The door of the 
sick-room opened and Miss Timar came out. 
Her expression confirmed his worst fears. 
She did not say a word, but motioned to him 
dumbly to come in. 

George Timar and the doctor were staixding 

302 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


beside Paul’s bed. Antonie took hold of 
Charles’s hand and led him to the foot of the 
bed. A satisfied smile flitted over Paul’s faee. 
He looked at both of them gratefully, but he 
did not seem to be able to speak. The doctor, 
who had been taking his pulse, let go his hand 
and said, as he slipped his watch into his 
pocket slowly, ‘T shall have to give you some- 
thing else.” 

Then he looked at George and turned to go. 
George caught the hint, and followed him out. 

Paul remained quiet for a few moments 
longer. Then he tried to raise himself a little, 
and, putting out his hand f eebly, he whispered, 
“Auntie.” 

In a moment she was beside him. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asked, gently. 

He nodded. “In a little while I shall be 
very well.” 

She turned a distressed look upon Charles. 
“If only Carola were here now,” she whis- 
pered. But the sick man heard her words and 
said: “You and Uncle George are here, that 

is enough for me,” and he tried to draw her 
hand to his lips. 

She bent down over him and kissed him on 
the forehead. 


303 


THE ANGEL OF DEATH 


“What shall we tell Carola, Paul?” she 
asked, after a few moments, in a hardly audi- 
ble voice. 

Pie seemed to think for a little while. “She 
knows what I would say — I have told her it 
over and over again: ‘I love her until death, 

and shall go on loving her in heaven.’ ” 

Low voices came from the hall, and Charles 
went out to see what was wanted. It was the 
priest who had been calling on Paul right 
along. The weeping old servant had brought 
him up the stairs, hut hesitated now to bring 
him into the sick-room. 

“Come right in with me,” said Fernau. 
“Paul will not be shocked to see you. He is 
much more reconciled at the thought of death 
than the people about him think.” 

An hour later the angel of death had en- 
tered into that house. In Paul’s bedroom 
knelt the members of the household, brokenly 
reciting the prayers for the dead for Paul, 
who had breathed out his young life in his 
aunt’s faithful arms. 


304 


CHAPTER XXI 

CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 

Days and weeks of painful excitement, fol- 
lowed by silent sorrow, had passed. Paul’s 
death had made a deep impression on Fernau, 
too. From the very first Charles had been 
drawn to the young man by his amiable man- 
ner, and during the weeks of his sickness they 
had become very dear to each other. Charles 
had given Paul so much of his time and 
thought that it took a little while before he 
seemed to find himself in touch once more with 
his accustomed activities and habits. 

The Timars looked upon him now as a mem- 
ber of the family. It was their greatest con- 
solation to have him sit and talk with them of 
Paul, especially since the Vilnaus, who had 
come and spent some time with the lonely old 
people, had returned to the Lodge. Charles 
had been most deeply moved, however, by the 
sight of Carola. Over and over again her 
memory arose before him as he had seen her, 

305 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


pale and worn, and yet resigned. He had 
hardly spoken to her. All the rest were wrapt 
up in attentions to her. He, however, held 
himself aloof, and much as there was that he 
would have liked to have said to her, he still 
felt that this was not the time nor the place 
for it. When she had grown a little more 
calm, he might talk to her, and tell her of 
Paul’s last hours and his messages to her. Mr. 
Baerens himself seemed to have aged. He 
said wistfully to Fernau: “How everything 

has changed since then! The beautiful forest 
is gone, Paul is gone, and, as for the rest — 
well, we old people can not bear to think of it.” 
It was no wonder that a man of Fernau’s 
temperament found little time to think of his 
own affairs. Not until this last day, which he 
had spent at the cemetery superintending the 
placing of his monument, did the present and 
his relations to it, come back to him. Sad- 
dened as his thoughts were by the suggestions 
of the place, he yet felt an exaltation as he 
contemplated his creation. His work was 
better than he had dared to hope, and so he 
acknowledged to himself as he stood before 
it. It had been part of him for so long, while 
his hands toiled and wrought. He was lost 

306 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


in that rare moment of satisfaction that comes 
when we feel that we have at last done some- 
thing that is worth while. 

Rarely, however, does the happiest thought 
remain untroubled for long. He recalled how 
often he had asked Ottilie to be content not to 
see his work until it was finished. Now he 
remembered the conversation he had overheard 
in the restaurant, and it took away the delight 
he had anticipated in showing her the monu- 
ment. 

The workmen, who had effaced the last evi- 
dences of their activity, hade him good day 
and left. Fernau, left alone, turned to go, 
too. With the thought of Ottilie in his mind,' 
he concluded that the best way to put an end 
to all his misgivings was to go and call on 
her. 

With a sudden resolution he turned and 
started for the nearest street that led to her 
house. 

What faith in Ottilie’s kindness and appre- 
ciative sympathy had unconsciously come upon 
him, he realized now in his instinctive desire 
to go to her and talk to her at a moment when 
his sense of successful achievement made him 
long for expression and understanding. He 

307 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


knew Ottilie would be glad to see him, to listen 
to him, and would comprehend. 

In the meantime, he reached the Kampe’s 
house. The vestibule door was open, and he 
entered without ringing. The hall door, too, 
was half open and, as there was no answer to 
his repeated knockings, he went on into the 
parlor on a sudden impulse. 

There was nobody in sight, but he heard 
Mrs. Kampe’s voice in the library, saying ex- 
citedly; “No? And why not? I know why. 
I will tell you why. Because you are thinking 
of F ernau, that stiff, phlegmatic creature, 
who does not care in the least about you.” 

For a moment there was silence. Charles 
thought he could hear his own heart beat, in 
its sudden, startled emotion. But his whole 
attention was now concentrated on the door in 
front of him, and, right or wrong, he listened 
eagerly for the next words. Was this soft, 
expressive voice really Ottilie’s? 

“Yes, mother,” the words came out to him. 
“It may be that he does not care about me. 
He deserves somebody better than I can ever 
hope to be, for that matter. But, for my 
part, since I have learned to know and under- 
stand him — ” 


308 


CHARLES EERNAU’S AWAKENING 


“Well, if this isn’t too much — ” 

“Let me finish, mother. It has to be said. 
I have kept quiet a long time so as not to an- 
noy you. Yes, it is true that I have cared 
for him, and admired him and looked up to 
him, ever since the first day that I saw him. 
There was a time, too, mother, when I wor- 
ried and wondered how it was all to end. 
Now, however, I have grown calm. Even if 
he has caused me pain, if he should turn aw'ay 
from me in indifference, it is still through him 
that my eyes were opened to the real worth 
and meaning of life.” After a little while, 
the voice went on: “Would it be so sad for 

you and father, if I were just to stay here with 
you, and try to be as amiable and make it as 
pleasant as I can for you — ” 

The sound of a door closing in some part 
of the house caused the artist to start guiltily. 
He gave a quick look into the hall, and then 
hurried out into the street. Outside he stood 
still for a few moments. He was almost sorry 
he had left so precipitately. But he had heard 
enough. What more did he want to hear? 

He was not in the mood to go home, much 
less to go among strangers, so he turned to- 
wards the lonely walks of the Castle Park. 

309 




lUH' 




W»g«UUMIIIMUiU 


>JI 1 11,1.1 KilHHJ i 




CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


It was getting dark when at last he started 
for Timar’s house. Antonie herself opened 
the door for him. 

“What is the matter,” she asked, anxiously, 
barely replying to his greeting, “You look as 
though something had happened to you.” 

He gave her a strange look, but did not an- 
swer. 

“What is it?” she went on. “Does it con- 
cern us? Has something happened to my 
brother?” 

“Heaven forbid,” he answered. “Do not 
excite yourself at all, my dear Miss Timar. 
Something strange has happened to me, it is 
true, but I shall come and tell you all about it 
in a little while.” 

With that he started up the stairs. 

“No,” she said, “I must know first whether 
anything unpleasant has happened.” 

“Unpleasant?” he repeated absently. 
“Judge for yourself,” and then he bent low to 
her ear, “Ottilie Kampe loves me — me.” 

Before she could recover from her astonish- 
ment — at the manner of the communication 
rather than at the matter of it, he had hurried 
away. 

He locked the door and threw his hat to one 

310 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


side. Then he began walking up and down 
the room with long steps. “Ottilie is in love 
with you,” he whispered to himself over and 
over again, as if he could hardly realize the 
truth of what his ears had heard. 

He had been indignant when he first over- 
heard the chance conversation in the res- 
taurant. Now he could not understand how he 
could have been blind so long. Many things 
appeared to him in a very different light. 
Many a word, many a look that he had passed 
over at the time, came back to him to confirm 
her affection. He saw her standing before 
him once more in her simple morning-dress, 
her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the sight 
of him. He heard her voice saying: “And 

even if he should turn from me in indiffer- 
ence, it is still through him that my eyes were 
opened to the real worth and meaning of life.” 

Could those proud lips of hers speak such 
humble words? Was it possible that he, he 
of all men should have inspired so deep and 
powerful a feeling? Involuntarily he raised 
his head higher, and his step grew more firm. 

“There is no help for it,” he broke out at 
last. “And whom can I blame but myself? 
Have I not, lost to every impression save 

311 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


Carola, forgotten all other considerations? I 
have visited at the Kampes’ house, I have gone 
at all hours of the day. I have cultivated her 
father’s friendship, and accepted her uncle’s 
hospitality. I have made her the confidante 
of my ideas, my ambitions, my work. Could 
she guess that I came only on account of her 
friendship with Carola? Is she not young, 
and handsome, and courted? Charles, 
Charles, you have had a great care about the 
mote in somebody else’s eye, hut you have not 
been able to see the beam in your own. Now 
take the consequences. No, there is really no 
other way.” With locked arms he sat at his 
window and gazed out into the night. 

“What have I been thinking of?” he went 
on in his accusing soliloquy. “Did I not 
say to Otto myself, ‘How can I visit at a 
house where there are daughters, without be- 
ing looked upon as a candidate for matri- 
mony?’ Oh, I was so sensible, so superior, so 
wise! And now I am here in the face of a de- 
votion which I do not deserve and which I 
do not — ” 

“Return,” he was going to add. But some- 
thing whispered within him that gave him 
pause and did not let him speak the word. At 

312 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


last he went to his table and lighted his lamp. 
“I must go down and talk with Miss Timar. 
I shall tell her all about it — everything.” 

His eyes fell upon two letters on his table. 
The handwriting on the one he recognized at 
once as Otto’s. He opened the letter hastily. 
A little note fell out of it. Fernau unfolded 
it and read: 

“Reykjavik^ September 26. 

“Because so long, so long I stayed 
In foreign lands, and dreamed and played. 

My sweetheart’s patience all gave way; 

She sewed a gown for her wedding-day. 

And clasped to her arms in wedlock’s joys 
The most stupid of all the stupid boys.” 

The date of the letter was that of the dav 
on which Paul had died. 

Charles stared at the flippant lines his friend 
had written with a feeling as if he had heard 
some sudden and rasping discord. Paul’s 
dying message eame baek to him, and he 
pushed Otto’s letter away, at once hurt and re- 
pelled by its sneer. Mechanically he took up 
the second letter. But his expression ehanged 
at the first glance at it. The envelope was 
postmarked “Berlin” and had the seal of the 
Royal Academy. He opened it expectantly, 

313 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


and then read it in quivering excitement, once, 
twice, three times. It was a call to Berlin. 

He passed his hand over his forehead. 
Really, there were too many surprises for one 
day. He could not stand being alone any 
longer. 

Miss Timar had been looking for him to 
come down before this, and when he entered 
her sitting-room she came toward him with 
her hands outstretched, looking so pleased that 
Charles felt a warm thrill at his heart. He 
sat down opposite her and she looked at him 
sympathetically, while he struggled for words 
to express himself. 

“Oh, you enviable one! Am I to hear all 
about your happiness now?” 

“Happiness?” he repeated. “Do you really 
think it is a happiness?” 

“But Mr. Fernau, I do not understand you. 
You are not asking a question like that in 
earnest, are you ? Is it not happiness to know 
that one is loved?” 

“Yes,” he said, covering his eyes with his 
hand for a moment, “it must be a great hap- 
piness, and one which I have never known up 
to this time.” 

Antonie looked at him kindly. It was not 

314 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


to be wondered at, she thought, if he could 
not quite understand it all as yet. Had he 
not often told her how loveless and joyless his 
youth had been, and how he had missed having 
neither parents, nor brothers and sisters? 

“Have you spoken to her parents as yet?” 
she asked after a while. It seemed to her as 
if some shadow still hung over him and his 
desires. 

“No,” he said, pulling himself together, 
“but I shall write to her father to-morrow. 
After the news I have just received from Ber- 
lin, I hardly need to fear a refusal,” and he 
handed her the letter from the Academy. 

“To go to Berlin? and be associated with 
the great Professor Blaeser? That was un- 
expected, was it not? But I congratulate you 
just the same. Of course,” she hesitated a 
moment, “we shall miss you very much.” 

Her trembling voice waked him out of his 
abstraction. The tears stood in her eyes and 
rolled down over her pale cheeks. 

“My dear and good friend,” he said warmly, 
“we will not speak of these things any more 
to-night. They are still too exciting for you. 
And, for that matter, I can not leave Mann- 
heim before spring.” 


315 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


She conquered her tears while he was 
speaking. “No,” she said then, “you can not 
get off like that. You must tell me all there 
is to tell, f or I f eel that there is still something 
on your heart that keeps you from the full 
enjoyment of your happiness and good for- 
tune.” 

Charles sprang to his feet. “What will you 
say to me — what will you think of me,” he 
exclaimed passionately, “if I tell you that I 
do not feel worthy of the devotion of the 
noble and beautiful being who loves me, for 
all my thoughts and desires have been for 
another woman?” 

And then his self -accusations flowed on, like 
a stream long repressed. He told Antonie 
everything, everything that he had shut up 
within himself and struggled with for so 
long. 

It had grown late. George Timar came 
home, but neither Antonie nor Charles heard 
his footsteps. He had hesitated at his sister’s 
door for a moment, and then he went on to 
his room, shaking his head wonderingly. Af- 
ter he heard Charles go back to his own room, 
George went down to see his sister. 

“What is the matter with Fernau? You 

316 


CHARLES FERNAU’S AWAKENING 


seem to be smiling and cheerful for the first 
time since Paul died,” 

His sister told him what Fernau had just 
confided to her. He looked at her doubtingly^ 
and surprised. 

“And you really did not hesitate to approve 
of his asking Ottilie to marry him after he 
told you all this?” 

“Not in the least,” she answered. “He is 
making no sacrifice, or he would not be so con- 
vinced that, as a man of honor, he can not do 
otherwise than ask her to marry him. Be- 
lieve me, he cares a good deal for Ottilie even 
now, and he will care more and more for her 
as time passes. He does not like to admit, 
however, even to himself, that he has changed 
his mind or his heart, and he does not want 
to turn away from the dream in which he has 
been living and face the reality too suddenly, 
even if it is more beautiful than the dream.” 


317 


CHAPTER XXII 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 

Mr. Kampe had had a had night, some- 
thing very unusual for him. He had not 
been able to agree with his wife on the pre- 
vious evening, and now his breakfast did not 
taste as good as usual. 

“It is annoying, it is true, more than an- 
noying,” he grumbled to himself, “but you 
really can not force the child to marry a man. 
He is a fine fellow, of course, h’m — h’m — and 
yet, heaven knows, I would have liked Fernau 
better. He is a good young man, a capable 
one. Nothing of the show and pretense that 
seems to fill all the young fellows nowadays. 
I would just as soon strike quicksand when I 
am building as meet the average young fel- 
low. To be sure, I can not talk to my wife 
about these things in that way. She never 
did think much of Fernau, anyway, and now 
she is in a perfect rage when you mention his 
name.” 


318 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


The door opened and Mrs. Kampe came in. 
He gave her a sidelong glance, to see which 
way the weather set, before he answered her 
“Good morning.” But she looked pleasant 
and content; her round, still handsome face 
showed not a trace of the spirit of the evening 
before. 

“Well, father,” she said, “did you speak to 
Ottilie this morning?” 

“No,” he answered bruskly, “I did not — 
and I do not think it necessary to do so, 
either.” 

“That is my idea, too. We will let her 
alone and use our understanding and reason 
for her. She Avill thank us for it later.” 

As he did not answer she went on persua- 
sively, “You will write to Mr. Ullrich and tell 
him about our consent, as we agreed to do last 
evening?” 

“Indeed! Did we agree? I am very glad 
to hear it.” 

“But, my dear husband,” she stammered, 
surprised at the tone, and the uncommon en- 
ergy which it evidenced. “Did you not change 
your mind? Just think — ” 

Kampe interrupted her. “I have thought,” 
he said firmly. “I have thought about more 

319 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


things this night, and worried harder than if 
I had to build a whole street. You remem- 
ber what the Gospel says about your lan- 
guage — that it should be yea, yea, and no, no. 
That is the way I do my business every day 
of my life, and now that I am getting old 
and gray, I can not get used to a crooked 
plumbline. The child does not care about 
him now, and what else is there to do but to 
tell him so? That is all there is to it.” 

“All there is to it? Well, it isn’t all. She 
should come to her senses and she will. Just 
let me take care of that part. She may never 
in her life have another chance as good as 
this, Kampe, and I am sure that the young 
man will wait a while. He will agree to al- 
most any conditions, if — ” 

“Do not begin again,” he said, impatiently. 
“Let us be simple and honest, and leave the 
rest to God. Do you think that I do not love 
my child, too, that I do not wish to see her 
well settled in life? If she had some crazy 
idea in her head, such as young girls get when 
their minds are filled with romantic tales, I 
would be willing to say: ‘Nonsense, foolish 
truck. That isn’t the way of real life. Get 
some sense and listen to your parents.’ But 

320 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES, A LETTER 

she has shown that she has precisely the right 
kind of sense. She has not been taken in by 
appearances and fine talk. She says: ‘He is 
a man. He loiows his work, he has solid prin- 
ciples, he — ’ ” 

“I never heard a word of that,” she cut off 
his praises, “I do not see — ” 

“Well, if she didn’t say just those words, 
that was the idea, anyway. I can not talk as 
well as she can. You understood what she 
meant, just as well as I did, even if you do 
not let on that you did. It touched my heart. 
I began to admire and respect my owm daugh- 
ter.” 

Kampe stopped, astonished at his own cour- 
age. His wife had not been prepared for 
such resistance. She hardly remembered ever 
hearing him talk so much at one time. After 
a little reflection, it seemed best to her not to 
try to force her point now. 

“My dear, do not excite yourself,” she said 
gently. “If I had thought that you would 
take it this way, I would not have spoken of 
the matter at all again. I am sure you must 
know best about these things, and I am sorry 
I was so insistent last evening. I have been 
reproaching myself,” and her voice took a sub- 

321 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


dued and regretful cadence. “It is only be- 
cause, after the way of mothers, I am anxious 
about the future of our only child. But take 
matters in your own hands, and then I shall 
feel relieved, at least, of that much responsi- 
bility. 

“Write just as you think best,” she went 
on sweetly, encouraged by the wavering ex- 
pression of his face. “We have always agreed 
heretofore, and there would he no sense in 
disagreeing now upon a matter which is as 
dear to one of us as to the other. Write at 
once, if you care to, and to show' you how 
much I trust you, I shall not even ask to see 
the letter.” 

She got up quiekly and left the room. 
Kampe looked after her dubiously. 

“Oh, these daughters, these daughters! I 
have but one and the worry I have had 
about her during the last few days! I won- 
der what the men do who have half a dozen of 
them? If it could he that my wife is right — ” 
There was a knock at the door, and when he 
answ'ered, the servant entered and gave him a 
letter. “The postman just left it,” she said, 
and disappeared. 

■L' ^ ^ 'Ir 'ii. 


322 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


Ottilie M^as putting away the clean table 
linens. She had had a sleepless night, too. 
She had heard the day before that the monu- 
ment at which Charles had been working was 
finished and placed. She had heard, too, that 
it was very beautiful. Why did not Charles 
take her to see it, as he had promised? Did 
he want to show her in this way that he did 
not care about her? Could he have heard 
about her new suitor? In spite of the calm 
she flattered herself she had attained, her heart 
beat each time the door-bell rang. All day 
long she had expected him, and then, late in 
the evening, she had had the scene with her 
parents. Once in her room she had wept pas- 
sionately, unrestrainedly, but now in the cold, 
morning light, tears seemed less natural, and, 
moreover, she felt she must control herself. 
If her mother would but let her alone for a 
while, and not trouble her with reproaches and 
reasons. 

Then she heard the library door open, and 
a moment later Mr. Kampe came tearing up 
the stairs. 

“Mother, Ottilie, where are you?” he cried 
breathlessly at the top of the stairs. Ottilie 
hurried into the hall, and Mrs. Kampe came 

323 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


in a moment, too. Ottilie’s first glance took 
in the open letter in her father’s hand. 
“Come, come,” he said, and pointed to his 
room. 

“But, Kampe,” said his wife, “for heaven’s 
sake, what is the matter with you?” 

“Nothing bad, I can tell you. Just sit 
down,” he urged. 

When they were both seated expectantly in 
front of him, he read: 

“My Dear Mr. Kampe: 

“At last the monument at which I have 
been working so long is finished, and was 
placed yesterday. I am thankful to be able 
to say that it has received much praise from 
the critics. But what is still more encoura- 
ging to me is that I have received an offer to 
go to Berlin and assist Professor Blaeser in 
the carrying out of the design for a large mar- 
ble gi’oup intended for the Boyal National 
Gallery. This offer insures me a standing 
among artists and a certain income, which I 
was not able to command previously. I am, 
therefore, in a position to ask the hand of 
your daughter. Your kindness to me has en- 
couraged me to think that you may have suf- 

324 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


ficient confidence in my character to entrust 
me with the future of your only ehild. My 
whole life shall be devoted to justifying this 
confidenee.” 

Kampe had been looking at his wife and 
daughter triumphantly as he read, and had 
enjoyed the look of utter surprise in his wife’s 
and even more deeply and altogether tenderly 
the sudden light of a great happiness in his 
daughter’s eyes. All at once he was so moved 
himself that he could not go on. 

“He will call this afternoon in person. 
Take it and read for yourself what he says 
about you.” With that he put the letter on 
the table between them and turned away. Ot- 
tilie was sitting as if turned to stone. 

Mrs. Kampe was the first to regain her com- 
posure. 

“Some people brag about everything they 
have, and that is vulgar, but to hide your light 
under a bushel like that, so that no one can see 
it, no matter how one might try, does not 
seem sensible, either. Who would have 
thought such things of this Fernau? And to 
go to Berlin! He will he a Professor some 
day himself, I suppose, if his modesty will 

325 


MR. KAMPE RECEIVES A LETTER 


allow him to accept such a distinction. I al- 
ways knew that he had a good heart. As for 
his stiff ways, well, Ottilie can break him of 
those.” 

Ottilie looked at her mother joyously. 
“You will be willing to say ‘Yes,’ then, 
mother ?” 

“Will we say ‘Yes,’” cried Mr. Kampe. 
“]Mv dear heart, we could not have wished to 
have a better, dearer son-in-law than Fernau. 
Is that not so, mother?” 

“To be sure,” said Mrs. Kampe, swept 
away by the moment, and forgetting all her 
previous objections in the happiness of her 
child. 


326 


CHAPTER XXIII 
AT Paul’s grave 

Winter was past. Here and there, in 
sunny places, the grass was green, and an 
early flower raised its head, but the trees in 
the Castle Park were still bare and brown, 
and their buds, though ready to burst, were 
veiled from sight by the faint fog which had 
hung over the city all day, and turned to a 
chilly drizzle as night came on. 

Shiveringly, one of the men, who were just 
then entering the Park, drew his overcoat 
closer at his throat. At the same moment a 
street lamp flamed out beside him, and his 
companion started as he looked at the pale, 
set face and the drawn brows. Involuntarily 
he thought of the first day on which they two 
had walked along here — morning sunshine, 
spring blossoms, and the man with him as gay 
and light-hearted as the world about them. 
Not two years had passed, and how they had 
changed him. 


32T 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


Since those lines of Heine’s that Otto had 
sent him, Charles had not written. To be 
sure, he had recognized the pain and disap- 
pointment hidden under the sneer, and some- 
times he felt like writing fully. If Otto had 
sent him one word to show his real feelings, 
Charles would have done so. But, as it was, 
he waited until the time should come when 
Otto seemed to want to know. 

“You do not live in the same place, do 
you?” Otto said, breaking his silence for the 
first time, as Charles stopped in front of Tim- 
ar’s house. “If so. I’ll go to a hotel.” 

“There is nobody in at present — we shall 
be alone,” Fernau answered, and motioned 
Otto in. 

“You have been at home, have you not?” 
he asked, after he had made his friend some 
tea. 

“Just for a few days, to see my people and 
arrange my affairs a little bit. I spent the 
winter in Norway and Sweden. But more 
about that later. I have to tell you some of 
the most interesting things about my journey. 
I intend to write several treatises founded on 
my observations, and it was to arrange about 
their publication that I went to Bonn. When 

328 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


I was that near, I felt that I must see you and 
have a talk with you. There was too much to 
write it all.” 

The tea and the punch began to have their 
effect. Otto became more talkative, and 
gradually his face softened a little. He 
did not saj'^ a word about Carola, yet Fernau 
felt that he wanted to talk about her and know 
more about her. He himself, however, did 
not say a word, for Otto, in spite of Charles’s 
repeated suggestions that they to go to bed, 
kept walking up and down the room excitedly. 

“What have you here?” asked Otto, uncer- 
tainly, pointing to a water color which he had 
not noticed until then. 

Charles silently took the picture down, and 
set it on the table, turning it so as to catch 
the right light. “See if you recognize it.” 

It was the little clearing and the view of 
the ruin in the forest at Rauheneck, where 
Otto and Charles had come upon Carola and 
her father on that first day. Carola was 
seated at one side under a great oak tree, her 
hand resting on the dog’s head. The forester 
himself was looking toward the young man, 
who was advancing, shading his eyes with his 
hand. 


329 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


Otto looked long at this picture. It re- 
called the past all too vividly. His friend 
watched his expression, hardly able to keep 
the silence he had imposed upon himself. 

“I protested with you at that time because 
you did not finish the sketch at once,” Otto 
said, painfully. “As it is, it has been finished 
too soon.” 

“I have sometimes thought the same way, 
and yet I am not sorry, now that I can think 
more calmly about it all, that I did finish it. 
Why should we fear to think of the past? It 
is only when we look determinedly upon all 
that is behind us that we can understand our 
life purposes thoroughly, and master them. 
Many things seem entirely different than our 
hurt emotions made us believe at first, and 
many a grief loses its bitterness, or becomes 
a tonic to us, if we are not afraid to look 
back.” 

“Charles,” said Otto, and there was a ring 
of pain in his voice, “I ask but one thing of 
you. Do not let me doubt you, too, do not 
make me feel that you, too, are on the side of 
the one — who — ” His voice trembled and his 
lips quivered. 

“And do not you say something for which 

330 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


you may be sorry, Otto. When you are far 
away you learn things only in fragments, brief 
and distorted. I am sure — ” 

“Do not let us speak of it. I have heard 
from her parents, and know how it all came 
about. Could anybody tell it to me with more 
consideration for her than they would? And 
what did she write me herself? ‘Forgive and 
forget!’ You do not know how often we 
used to say those words to each other. They 
were my byword, my excuse whenever I had 
done anytliing to hurt her. And she could 
remind me of them calmly at such a time? 
No, do not let us talk of her. I was disap- 
pointed in her, bitterly disappointed.” 

Rudolphi threw himself into a chair and, 
having started, gave way to his reproaches and 
his complaints. Fernau did not interrupt 
him, although it was hard to keep still when 
Otto spoke contemptuously of Paul. 

At last when Otto paused in astonishment 
at his friend’s persistent silence, Charles said: 
“I know you expect me to say something and 
I shall to-morrow. For the present it is 
enough that you have had a chance to free 
your own mind and heart.” 

Charles’s tone was so decided that Otto f ound 

331 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


himself going to bed almost before he realized 
it. He did not sleep well, however. Much 
as he had tried to steel himself against it, the 
thought of how near he was to Carola would 
not leave him. Over and over, it seemed as if 
all that had passed were but an evil dream 
and, if he hurried to Rauheneck, she would re- 
ceive him as of old. 

A beautiful morning followed after the 
dismal night. The rain had started the buds 
and the leaves, so that the early sun shone on 
patches of delicate, shimmering green, where 
yesterday all was bare and somber. The 
friends walked on across the Neckar Bridge, 
toward the cemetery, each lost in his own 
thoughts. Charles was on the way to success 
and happiness, but his struggles were too re- 
cent to have left no shadow on his soul. And 
Otto! His dream was over, and his self-con- 
fidence and joyousness had received a deadly 
blow. It hurt Charles to see him so quiet and 
earnest, almost before his time. 

Charles led him far up, on through the 
graveyard. 

“Here it is,” he said at last, pointing to a 
high monument, just touched by a beam of 
the morning sum piercing the light mists that 

— ^ / 332 

> ■ 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


hung over the cemetery. Accustomed as 
Charles was to his work, and eager as he was, 
too, to note its effect on Otto, in this lighting 
and at this moment, he forgot all other 
thoughts in its contemplation. Was it the 
faint red light that seemed to glorify the fig- 
ure, and give it a touch of life, so that the 
morning wind seemed almost to stir the folds 
of the draperies and lift the light curls from 
the delicate temples, while the slender fingers 
clasped the cross more closely and the lips 
seemed to open, as if about to speak, and an- 
nounce the peace and the hope which were 
impressed on the beautiful face? 

“I understand now,” Otto said at last. 
“She was dear to you, too, and you have ideal- 
ized her in your work, as you said you would, 
if you had an unhappy love. Do you remem- 
ber? For my sake you stayed away from 
her.” 

Charles nodded. “Love has sharp eyes, Otto. 
No one has recognized the resemblance but 
you.” He believed what he was saying, but 
some time he was to learn how mistaken he 
had been. 

Otto did not seem to hear him. He stood 
with folded arms, looking up at the figure. 

333 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


“It is beautiful, Charles,” he said. “It is a 
masterpiece, and it will make a name for you. 
But,” he went on, “you have done something 
greater even than that. You have given me 
back Faith and Charity.” 

“Not Hope, too, my poor Otto?” Charles 
said, softly and tenderly. “We are still 
young, Otto, and life is long.” 

Otto shook his head. 

“See,” Charles went on. “Love and happi- 
ness came to me, too, when my heart was lonely 
and bitter. Ottilie has grown to love me, and 
now we are engaged.” 

“The beautiful Kampaspe,” said Otto. 
“Ah, now I know, too, why you seemed indif- 
ferent to her for such a long time. And you 
did not tell me yesterday. I was so taken up 
with my own affairs, I did not think to ask. 
Now you must tell me.” 

Charles took his hand. “Before we turn 
back to life and the future, which, please God, 
is to be happy, there is one more place which 
has a right to our thoughts. I have a mes- 
sage to give which is sacred, for it is from the 
dead.” 

Under an old beech tree there was a mound, 
still fresh. Here Charles stood still. “Do 

334 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 

you see the letters cut in the bark? A ‘P’ and 
a ‘T’? Here is where Paul Timar is sleeping 
his last, long sleep, and here you shall hear 
his last words : They were a prayer to you to 

‘Forgive and forget.’ ” 

Otto looked at Charles, as though he did 
not comprehend what he was saying. Then 
his look showed his sudden understanding. 
“What are you saying? Paul Timar, her 
Paul is—” 

“Dead,” Charles finished for him solemnly. 
“He died as the result of an accident he met 
with during that terrible storm, when he went 
out into the forest to save Carola.” Otto 
stared at him unable to speak. 

“He loved her very much, Otto. His love 
for her had grown up from childhood with 
him. It followed him across the ocean, and, 
in the midst of the temptations of a new and 
easy life in that far-away land, it was his 
guardian spirit. When he came back and 
found Carola betrothed to you, he tided to give 
her up. That he forgot you and your rights 
when he did, you must forgive him.” 

Fernau then went on and told Otto every- 
thing. As he listened to Charles, the figure 
that had lived in his mind so contemptuously 

335 


AT PAUL’S GRAVE 


grew noble and splendid, and, at last, the soul- 
ful eyes seemed to look at him and plead, 
“Forgive and forget.” 

Silently Otto held out his hand to Charles, 
and then knelt down beside Paul’s grave and 
prayed. 

When they came to the gate of the ceme- 
tery, one of the lodgekeeper’s little girls ran 
up to them and held out a tiny wreath of 
veronica, full of blue flowers. Otto lifted up 
the child and kissed her. Then he put his 
hand in his pocket and gave her a silver coin, 
saying, “Buy yourself a dolly with that,” and 
set her down gently. The little wreath, how- 
ever, he slipped onto his arm. 

“I am going to take this to Carola,” he said 
to Fernau. 


336 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 

Early the next morning Otto Rudolphi 
was walking along the road that led to Rauh- 
eneck. Eernau had aecompanied him to Lam- 
brecht and on the road to the woods. Then he 
turned back. “You had better go the rest of 
the way alone,” he said to Otto, and Otto felt 
that Charles was right. There ai'e emotions 
which each man must master for himself, and 
outside influence or sympathy, no matter how 
delicate and considerate, is but a disturbing 
and hindering element. The first faint, mys- 
terious breath of spring was whispering in the 
trees about him, and stirring in the things of 
the ground under his feet, but save for a gen- 
tle and unconscious soothing of his troubled 
mind he heeded it not. His eyes were turned 
inward and he was taking account of his past 
life. 

When he found himself at the clearing he 

337 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


stopped and looked around to make sure he 
had not missed his path. Where were the 
great oaks from beneath which they had heard 
Carola’s song on that day. He climbed up 
the little rise and looked about. Yes, here 
was the arbor, but young, weak trees stood 
around it. 

When at last he went down, he walked 
slowly, and even more slowly, as he drew 
nearer. At the great gate he hesitated. He 
heard the dogs barking, and here and there 
saw the curious face of a servant or a work- 
man turned toward him. He felt that it would 
be an ordeal to walk along that driveway up 
to the house. Should he go to the side and 
up through the garden? He looked up at 
the window where he had sat so often with 
Carola. A sound made him turn — there was 
Carola herself. 

During all his travels he had pictured this 
moment to himself and had tried to prepare 
himself for it. And j^et the meeting seemed 
altogether unexpected. 

She looked so ditferent from what he had 
expected she would, that he could but stand 
and look at her in silence. She seemed more 
sure of herself and for that reason, perhaps, 

338 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


taller, and the steady look of her dark eyes 
almost made Otto cast down his own. 

She, too, seemed to need a few moments to 
recover, but in spite of the utter surprise of 
this visit, she found a word of welcome before 
he did. 

“Otto,” she said, and he thought her cheeks 
flushed slightly, “it is so good of you to come 
here once more,” and she held out her hand. 
He took it and she saw by his expression and 
felt by the warmth of his clasp, that he had 
not come to reproach her. Indeed, she too 
felt the change in him, and, as he stood there, 
she knew that he did not bear her ill-will, that 
he was an altogether changed and different 
man. If there had been a tinge of bitterness 
left in his heart, it would have had to yield 

to the pleading look of her eyes and the gentle 

• 

tone of her voice. For a moment more they 
stood there, and looked into each other’s eyes. 
Then Otto handed her the little wreath saying : 
“I have brought something for you, Carola. 
It is from the cemetery at Mannheim.” 

She took the wreath, and looked at the wilt- 
ing blossoms and shriveling leaves, and her 
eyes filled with tears. “You were there? Fer- 
nau took you?” 


339 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


He nodded. 

“And you have forgiven him?” she asked 
very low. “Oh, he was so good, Otto. Poor 
Paul!” 

Her voice shook and she could not go on. 
Then she composed herself and said hurriedly : 
“But I am forgetting to take you into the 
house. It will he a consolation and joy for 
my parents to see you again.” With that she 
turned to go in. But Otto put out his hand, 
to hold her back. 

“Carola,” he said pleadingly, “let us stay 
out here a little longer, and talk of the things 
that are between us — and of the things that 
must be spoken of, if I am to go away from 
here in peace.” 

She did not answer, but went on past the 

house with him. On the road leading through 

'•* 

the forest to St. Hubert’s Lodge they soon 
found a rustic bench, on which they had often 
sat and talked in the old days. As if they had 
agreed to do so, they both sat down here. 

“I know that you are aware of all the things 
that happened here, and how they happened, 
because you have seen Fernau, and because 
you have come here yourself, Otto. Much 
that has been hard to bear has come to me since 

340 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


you went away. But harder than anything 
else was the thought, the constant thought, that 
I had wronged you. No one can understand 
how it is that Miss Timar, who idolized her 
nephew, who became almost melancholy dur- 
ing his stay in India, is so calm and resigned 
now. But I can understand it, Otto. Much 
as Paul’s death has grieved me, and much as 
I have grieved at the thought that his trying 
to save me brought on the trouble which ended 
in his death, I can weep for him and pray for 
him with peace in my heart. For I have no 
sense of having wronged him in any way. 
Miss Timar is right — the trials that God sends 
we can always bear, but the things which we 
bring upon ourselves are often too much for 
us. I was not honest toward you, Otto, and 
it has pained me more than you have probably 
thought, more than I myself expected. Mr. 
Fernau will have told you how two of your 
letters were long delayed during that winter. 
That a circumstance like that should influence 
me as much as it did shows, of course, that I 
was but a foolish child, used to making de- 
mands on others, and never thinking of — ” 
“Do not say any more, Carola,” he inter- 

341 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


rupted her. “I, too, have to reproach myself 
with much.” 

She went on. “Mother said once that it 
took sorrow and experience to soften and rub 
off the angularities of our characters. I have 
often thought of that, Otto. Sorrow has at 
least shown me my own faults.” 

She said much more and he listened in as- 
tonishment. This was not the half-opened 
bud of a girl he had left behind — ^this was a 
woman of understanding and strength. He 
did not know how it happened, hut he found 
himself all at once telling her of his travels 
and discoveries, and, also, of the sufferings of 
his heart and soul, until both were startled bv 
the harking of a dog, and a moment later 
Gasko leaped up at Otto in noisy welcome. 

“Be quiet,” Carola said. “Be quiet, Gasko, 
you bold fellow.” 

“Let him he. You do not know how it 
pleases me to see that he remembers me, and 
seems so glad to see me.” 

She turned her face away for a moment to 
hide her blush, and then saw her father coming 
along, looking at them in astonishment and 
wonder. 


342 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


“Come on, father,” she cried, “you will be 
glad to see who it is. It is Otto.” 

Otto put aside the dog and went toward 
Baerens with his hand outstretched. The old 
forester put both his arms around him. “I 
am so glad, much more so than I can say,” he 
assured Otto as they went toward the house 
together, while Carola hurried ahead to tell her 
mother of the visitor. 

“We have passed through a hard time, Otto, 
a time of much sorrow and much care. Yes,” 
he said, following the direction of the young 
man’s eyes, “the trees suffered too. There 
are slim young saplings, now, where there 
were mighty old trunks. There was dreadful 
destruction,” and he sighed. 

Otto looked at the old gentleman. His 
hair had grown gray, his erect figure was bent 
a little. But when Mrs. Baerens came out of 
the door to welcome him, her appearance 
struck him even more painfully. Her pleas- 
ant, still youthful features wore an almost 
melancholy expression. Her round cheeks 
were pale and sunken. It was hard for him 
not to let her see how sadly changed he felt 
her to be. 

Her manner was as kindly as ever, and, 

343 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


when Carola left them alone for a few mo- 
ments she showed him Paul’s picture. It was 
a small pastel which was made before he left 
for India. Otto gazed in silence on the at- 
tractive, almost girlish features. 

“He always looked delicate, and the doctor 
said that even without the accident in the forest 
there would have been reason to fear for his 
health. Nevertheless, that accident, which he 
met with, as you know, trying to save Carola, 
surely shortened his life, and you can under- 
stand how painful the thought is to us. We 
all of us loved Paul, ever since he was a child, 
hut to the Timars he was everything. I must 
admire Antonie’s calm and resignation when- 
ever she comes to see us.” 

“Mr. Fernau told me that she is reconciled 
to his death,” said Otto, “and I can under- 
stand that, in comparison with the uncertainty 
as to what had happened to Paul after the 
rebellion in India, his death at home would be 
an enviable fate.” Calmly as he spoke, how- 
ever, the tears came into his eyes and he walked 
to the window to hide his emotion. 

When he went to the train late in the after- 
noon they escorted him through the woods, 
as he had insisted on walking. When he left 

344 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


them he kissed Carola gently on the forehead, 
“Farewell, Carola,” he whispered. Then he 
turned quickly and a few moments later was 
lost in a turn of the road. 

In Mannheim Charles was awaiting him at 
the station. 

“How is it with you, now?” he asked, when 
Otto held out his hand silently. 

“We will speak of that later, Charles. Let 
us go to your room.” 

“The Timars have returned from St. Hu- 
bert’s Lodge, and hope to see you,” said Fer- 
nau, as they walked along. 

“I can not see them, Charles. I can see no 
one but you.” 

“Not even Ottilie? She and her parents, 
and Father Keller, who has been here for the 
last few days, have been looking forward to 
seeing you.” 

“I shall see you all in Berlin, soon. Do 
not take it unkindly, old fellow,” he said dully, 
“hut it is impossible now.” 

Before Fernau could answer, he added: 
“You remind me of something. I brought 
Pauline von Vilnau some engravings from 
Copenhagen. Will you take them to her? I 
shall leave on the night train.” 

345 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


When Charles had taken his friend to the 
station an hour later, he went to the coupe 
window once more at the last moment, and 
asked in a low tone : “And am I not to know 

what you think of Carola?” 

“I think of her what Heine says in the last 
two lines of the verses the first of which I sent 
you in my bitterness.” 

“Speak more clearly, Otto,” Charles urged 
as the guard was closing the doors. “I do 
not remember Heine’s lines.” 

“Indeed, they were not meant for a happ}’’ 
bridegroom either. But if you must know,” 
he bent low toward Charles and whispered, 
“I feel now that I was not worthy of her.” 

a!/ a!/ aIa 

VN ^ ^ 

Two years had passed. Ottilie Fernau sat 
in her sitting-room, waiting for her husband. 
The accustomed hour of return was long past. 
Something unusual must have detained him. 

As twilight shut down on the earth, the 
snowflakes whirled merrily from the gray cur- 
tain above. Ottilie lighted the hanging lamp 
over the table, and went to the window impa- 
tiently. 

The time of waiting seemed extra long, for 
she had good news to tell. Both her parents 

346 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


were coming on a visit for Easter, and, later in 
the spring, the beloved uncle, to whom she 
owed so much and who had not yet visited her 
in her own happy home, nor seen her dear lit- 
tle child, was coming too. 

She w’as in such a delicious excitement of 
expectation that she could not bring herself to 
do anything. She went back to the table to 
read her mother’s letter for the twentieth 
time. 

But now the letter was thrown on the table, 
and the young wif e flew to the door. She had 
heard Charles’s step on the stairs. 

“How late you are,” she said after she had 
kissed him. “Were you busy so late in your 
studio?” 

He nodded. “There was a look I wanted 
to get into the face of Charity, which bothered 
me. At last I succeeded.” 

“That is why you are so delighted. I knew 
you had had some special pleasure.” 

“More than one special pleasure,” he said, 
as he sat down on the couch and drew her ten- 
derly beside him. She looked at him ques- 
tioningly. 

“I just met Mrs. Rudolphi and escorted her 
to her door. Otto left for Rauheneck yester- 

347 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


day. Wait and see what may happen by Eas- 
ter time.” 

“Oh, Charles, is it true?” 

“Yes, I think two hearts for whose happi- 
ness you have feared so often will he united 
once more.” 

She was silent for awhile. 

“No,” she said then, “I do not doubt it any 
longer. Both of them have found the way 
through trials and sorrows to the understand- 
ing of their own selves and of life. I believe 
Otto will have no more feeling on account of 
her veneration for Paul’s memory than it 
pains me now to remember that — ” 

“That — ” he repeated wonderingly, and 
looking at her as if he did not understand. 

She leaned toward him and whispered: 
“That your heart belonged to another, before 
it did to me.” 

“Ottilie, who ever told you — ” She smil- 
ingly covered his mouth with her hand. 

“You confessed it yourself when you 
showed me your monument in INIannheim. 
Do you remember how 
wondered of whom the figure made them think, 
and no one could guess. I alone was silent. 
Love has sharp eyes, Charles. I knew, but I 

348 


they all wondered and 


THE ENDING OF THE TALE 


said nothing. You were engaged to me then, 
and I made up my mind that my love should 
make you forget this first dream. Have I 
succeeded?” 

He looked into her face, transfigured as it 
was hy love and joy. His eyes were more 

eloquent than the most endearing words could 

# 

have been. Before she could prevent him, he 
bent on his knee before her, and, raising her 
hand to his lips, he said, tremblingly: “It is 

forgotten. If I do think of the past now, it 
is but to ask myself how it was possible that 
I could have been blind so long to a heart as 
noble as yours and a devotion as exalted. I 
have said so often to others ‘Forgive and for- 
get,’ hut it seems to me now that I myself have 
the greatest reason to pray : F orgive me, and 

forget that there ever was a thought of any 
but you in my heart.” 


Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York. 

349 


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TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A START. By Rev. F. J. Finn, S.J. 
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Maurice F. Egan. “A choice collection of stories by one of the most 
popular writers.” 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE KNIGHT. By C. May. “Chapters of breath- 
less interest.” 

MILLY AVELING. By Sara Trainer Smith. “The best story Sara Trainer 
Smith has ever written.” 

THE TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. By Mary T. Waggaman. “An ex- 
cellent girl’s story.” 

THE PLAYWATER PLOT. By Mary T. Waggaman. “How the plotters 
are captured and the boy rescued makes a very interesting story.” 

AN ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. By Gabriel Ferry. 

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full of color and 
warmth of life in old Mexico.” 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “Many a boyish 
heart will beat in envious admiration of little Tommy.” 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. By Marion A. Taggart. “A creditable book in 
every way.” 

THE QUEEN’S PAGE. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. “Will arouse the 
young to interest in historical matters and is a good story well told.” 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Sprightly, interesting 
and well written.” 

BOB-O’LINK. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Every boy and girl will be de- 
lighted with Bob-o’Link.” 

THREE GIRLS AND ESPECIALLY ONE. By Marion A. Taggart. “There 
is an exquisite charm in the telling.” 

WRONGFULLY ACCUSED. By W. Herchenbach. “A simple tale*, enter- 
tainingly told.” 

THE CANARY BIRD. By Canon Schmid. “The story is a fine one and 
will be enjoyed by boys and girls.” 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The children who are blessed 
with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second Series. A collection of twenty stories 
by the foremost writers, with many full-page illustrations. 


4 


20 Copyrighted Stories for the Young 

By the Best Catholic Writers 

F^rice^, $10.00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on preceding pages 


Juvenile Library D 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David Bearne, SJ. “Here is a 
story for boys that bids fair to equal any of Father Finn’s successes.” 

THE MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. By George Barton. There is a peculiar 
charm about this novel that the discriminating reader will ascribe to the 
author’s own personality. 

HARMONY FLATS. By C. S. Whitmore. The characters in this story are 
all drawn true to life, and the incidents are exciting. 

WAYWARD WINIFRED. By Anna T. Sadlier. A story for girls. Its 
youthful readers will enjoy the vivid description, lively conversations, and 
plenty of striking incidents, all winding up happily. 

TOM LOSELY : BOY. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. Illustrated. The writer 
knows boys and boy nature, and small-boy nature too. 

MORE FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The children who are 
blessed with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

JACK O’LANTERN. By^ Mary T. Waggaman. This book is alive with in- 
terest. It is full of life and incident. 

THE BERKLEYS. By Emma Howard Wight. A truly inspiring tale, full 
of excitement. There is not a dull page. 

LITTLE MISSY. By Mary T. Waggaman. A charming story for children 
which will be enjoyed by older folk as well. 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. By Mary T. Waggaman. Full of fun and charming 
incidents — a book that every boy should read. 

CHILDREN OF CUPA. By Mary E. Mannix. One of the most thoroughly 
unique and charming books that has found its way to the reviewing desk 
in many a day. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. By Katharine T. Hinkson. This book is some- 
thing more than a story; but, as a mere story, it is admirably well written. 

THE DOLLAR HUNT. From the French by E. G. Martin. Those who wish 
to get a fascinating tale should read this story. 

THE VIOLIN MAKER. From the original of Otto v. Schaching, by Sara 
Trainer Smith. There is much truth in this simple little story. 

“JACK.” By S. H. C. J. As loving and lovable a little fellow as there is in 
the world is “Jack,” the “pickle,” the “ragamuffin,” the defender of per- 
secuted kittens and personal principles. 

A SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. By Anna T. Sadlier. , This is a beautiful 
book, in full sympathy with and delicately expressive of the author’s 
creations. 

DADDY DAN. By Mary T. Waggaman. This is a rattling good story for 
boys. 

THE BELL FOUNDRY. By Otto v. Schaching. So interesting that the 
reader will find difficulty in tearing himself away. 

TOORALLADDY. By Julia C. Walsh. An exciting story of the varied 
fortunes of an orphan boy from abject poverty in a dismal cellar to success. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Third Series. A collection of twenty stories 
by the foremost writers. 


5 


Catholic Circulating Library Eve^Mont 


NOVELS 

12 OopyTigtiteci Novels by tbe Best ^xitlnor^ 

Sf>boiai> F^rice), $12.00 


You the books at once, and have the use of them while making easy 

payments 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page 


Library of Novels No. I 

THE RULER OF THE KINGDOM. By Grace Keon. “Will charm any 
reader.’’ 

KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. By J. Harrison. “A real, true life 
history, the kind one could live through and never read it for romance.” 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. By Marion A. Taggart. Illustrated. “A 
tale of the time of Henry V. of England, full of adventure and excite- 
ment.” 

HEARTS OF GOLD. By I. Edhor. “It is a tale that will leave its reader 
the better for knowing its heroine, her tenderness and her heart of gold.” 

THE HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. By Countess Hahn-Hahn. “An ex- 
quisite story of life and love, told in touchingly simple words.” 

THE PILKINGTON HEIR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Skill and strength are 
shown in this story. The plot is well constructed and the characters 
vividly differentiated.” 

THE OTHER MISS LISLE. A Catholic novel of South African life. By 
M. C. Martin. A powerful story by a writer of distinct ability. 

IDOLS; OR, THE SECRET OF THE RUE CHAUSSEE D’ANTIN. By 
Raoul de Navery. “The story is a remarkably clever one; it is well con- 
structed and evinces a master hand.” 

THE SOGGARTH AROON. By Rev. Joseph Guinan, C.C. A capital Irish 
story. 

THE VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY. By Maurice F. Egan. “This 
is a novel of modern American life. The scene is laid in a pleasant colony 
of cultivated people on the banks of the Hudson, not far from West Point.” 

A WOMAN OF FORTUNE. By Christian Reid. “That great American 
Catholic novel for which so much inquiry is made, a story true in its 
picture of Americans at home and abroad.” 

PASSING SHADOWS. By Anthony Yorke. “A thoroughly charming 
story. It sparkles from first to last with interesting situations and 

dialogues that are full of s,entiment. There is not a slow page.” 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

SpeciA-Ij Net Price, $12.00 
$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 


Library of Novels No. II 

THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S WAGER, and Other Stories. 30 stories by 
30 of the foremost Catholic writers. 

A DAUGHTER OF KINGS. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. “The book is 
most enjoyable.’" 

THE WAY THAT LED BEYOND. By J. Harrison. “The story does not 
drag, the plot is well worked out, and the interest endures to the very 
last page.” 

CORINNE’S VOW. By Mary T. Waggaman. With 16 full-page illustrations. 
“There is genuine artistic merit in its plot and life-story. It is full of 
vitality and action.” 

THE FATAL BEACON. By F. v. Brackel. “The story is told well and 
clearly, and has a certain charm that will be found interesting. The prin- 
cipal characters are simple, good-hearted people, and the heroine’s high 
sense of courage impresses itself upon the reader as the tale proceeds.” 

THE MONK’S PARDON : An Historical Romance of the Time of Philip IV. 
of Spain. By Raoul de Navery. “A story full of stirring incidents and 
written in a lively, attractive style.” 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. By Walter Lecky. “The characters are life- 
like and there is a pathos in the checkered life of the heroine. Pere 
Monnier is a memory that will linger.” 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER GERARD. By Anna T. Sadlier. “One of the 
most thoroughly original and delightful romances ever evolved from the 
pen of a Catholic writer.” 

THE UNRAVELING OF A TANGLE. By Marion A. Taggart. With four 
full-page illustrations. “This story tells of the adventures of a young 
American girl, who, in order to get possession of a fortune left her by an 
uncle, whom she had never seen, goes to France.” 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. By Henry M. Ross. “A well-told story of 
American life, the scene laid in Boston, New York and California. It is 
very interesting.” 

FABIOLA’S SISTER. (A companion volume to Cardinal Wiseman’s *‘Fa- 
biola.”) Adapted by A. C. Clarke. “A book to read — a worthy sequel 
to that masterpiece, ‘Fabiola.’ ” 

THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE: A Novel. By A. de Lamothe. “A capital 
novel with plenty of go in it.” 


7 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Si»H>oiA.is, Price, $12.00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 


Library of Novels No. Ill 

“NOT A JUDGMENT.” By Grace Keon. “Beyond doubt the best Catholic 
novel of the year.” 

THE RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A story of 
stirring times in France, when the sturdy Vendeans rose in defence of 
country and religion.” 

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. “So 
dramatic and so intensely interesting that the reader will find it difficult 
to tear himself away from the story.” 

OUT OF BONDAGE. By M. Holt. “Once his book becomes known it will 
be read by a great rnany.” 

MARCELLA GRACE. By Rosa Mulholland. Mr. Gladstone called this 
novel a masterpiece, 

THE CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. By F. v. Brackel. This work has 
achieved a remarkable success for a Catholic novel, for in less than a year 
three editions were printed. 

CARROLL DARE. By Mary T. Waggaman. Illustrated. “A thrilling story, 
with the dash of horses and the clash of swords on every side.” 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. By Miles Keon. “Dion is as brilliantly, as 
accurately and as elegantly classical, as scholarly in style and diction, as 
fascinating in plot and as vivid in action as Ben Hur.” 

HER BLIND FOLLY. By FI. M. Ross. A clever story with an interesting 
and well-managed plot and many striking situations. 

MISS ERIN. By M. E. Francis. “A captivating tale of Irish life, redolent 
of genuine Celtic wit, love and pathos.” 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. By Walter Lecky. “The figures who move in 
rugged grandeur through these pages are as fresh and unspoiled in their 
way as the good folk of Drumtochty.” 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. By Mrs. W. M. Bertholds. “A story 
of which the spirit is so fine and the Catholic characters so nobly con- 
ceived.” 


8 


Contiimation Libuairy 


YOU SUBSCRIBE FOR FOUR NEW 
NOVELS A YEAR, TO BE MAILED TO 
YOU AS PUBLISHED, AND RECEIVE 
BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE FREE. 


Each year we publish four new novels by the best Cath- 
olic authors. These novels are interesting beyond the 
ordinary — not religious, but Catholic in tone and feeling. 
They are issued in the best modern style. 

We ask you to give us a standing order for these novels. 
The price is $1.25, which will be charged as each volume is 
issued, and the volume sent postage paid. 

As a special inducement for giving us a standing order 
for the novels, we shall include free a subscription to 
Benziger's Magazine, Benziger's Magazine is recognized 
as the best and handsomest Catholic periodical published, 
and we are sure will be welcomed in every library. The 
regular price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year — paid $1.25 at a time — you will get 
four good books and receive in addition a year’s subscription 
to Benziger^s Magazine, The Magazine will be continued 
from year to year, as long as the standing order for the 
novels is in force, which will be till countermanded. 


9 


THK KAMOUS 


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On payment of 50 cents you get the books and a free subscription to 

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The Greatest Stories by the foremost Catholic Writers in the World 

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their Works. Four exquisite volumes, containing the masterpieces of 36 of the 
foremost writers of America, England, Ireland, Germany, and France. Each 
story complete. Open any volume at random and you will find a great story 
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SHORT STORIES 


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Original Stories by 33 writers 

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Mary E. Mannix 
Mary T. Waggaman 
Jerome Harte 
Mary G. Bonesteel 
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Eugenie Uhlrich 
Alice Richardson 
Katharine Jenkins 
Mary Boyle O’Reilly 
Clara Mulholland 


Grace Keon 
Louisa Emily Dobree 


Rev. T. J. Livingstone, S.J. 


Theo. Gift 
Margaret E. Jordan 
Agnes M. Rowe 
Julia C. Walsh 
Madge Mannix 
Leigh Gordon Giltner 
Eleanor C. Donnelly 
Teresa Stanton 
H. J. Carroll 


Marion Ames Taggart 
Maurice Francis Egan 
Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Mrs. Francis Chadwicic 
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10 


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' A.]S[r> 

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